THE, 


'   ,  •.  •     f'/;-'f//  //<  /vvv  / 


S  C  WO  ODWORTH . 


DUETS,    TRIOS,    SONGS, 


BALLADS, 


PASTORAL,  AMATORY,  SENTIMENTAL,  PATRIOTIC, 
RELIGIOUS.  AND  MISCELLANEOUS. 


TOGETHER  WITH 

METRICAL    EPISTLES, 
TALES    ACTD    RECITATIONS, 

BY  SAMUEL  WOODWORTI1. 


THIRD    EDITION, 

COMPRISING 

MANY  LATE  PRODUCTIONS 

NKVRR  BEFORE  PUBMSHI*.!.'. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED    FOR   TTIF,    AUTHOR, 

By  Elliot  $•  Palmer,  20  William-si, 

1831. 


SOUTHERN  DISTRICT  OF  NEW- YORK,  ss. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  thirteenth  day  of  November, 

(L.  S.)    in  the  rifly-first  year  of  tlio  Independence  of  the  United  States  of 

America,    A.  D.  J826,   SAMUEL    WOODWORTH,  of  said 

Di?frir;t,  hath  deposited  in  this   office  the  title  of  a  Book,  the  right  whereof 

he  claims  ;is  Author,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit : 

"  Melodies,  Duels.  Trios,  Son?s,  and  Ballads,  pastoral,  amatory,  patriotic, 
religious,  and  miscellaneous.  Together  with  metrical  epistles,  tales  and  Re 
citations.  l*y  Samuel  Woodworth. 

"  A/idthou,  sweet  Poesy,  thou  loyliest  maid, 

Still  first  to  fly  when  sensual  joys  invade  : 

Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss,  and  all  my  wo, 

Thou  found' st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so.'* 
Goldsmith. 

]  n  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled,  "An 
Act  tor  the  encouragement  of  Learnins,  hy  securing  the  copies  of  Maps, 
Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors,  of  such  copies,  during 
the  time  therein  mentioned." — And  also  to  an  Act,  entitled,  "An  Act,  sup 
plementary  to  an  Act,  entitled,  "  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learn- 
inar,  by  securing  the  Copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and 
Proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,"  and  extend 
ing  the  benefils  thereof  to  the  Arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  his- 

JAMES  DILL. 
Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  Jfew-  v~-k. 


TO 

GEORGE  P.  MORRIS,  ESQ. 

THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED, 

BY  HIS  FRIEND, 

SAMUEL  WOODWORT1 


MELODIES 


X...FASTOILA.II 


Music  by  J.  H.  Swindells.* 

The  moon-beam  on  the  Hudson  sleeps, 

While  yon  enamoured  billow 
Delighted  to  the  stranger  creeps, 

And  makes  his  breast  her  pillow. 
The  rest,  with  dark  and  frowning  mien, 

And  jealous  murmurs,  languish, 
While  amorous  zephyrs  pass  the  scene, 

And  sigh  with  kindred  anguish. 

So,  when  the  fair  P  AS  TOR  A'  s  smile 

Her  favoured  LUBIN  blesses  — 
Who  steals  a  kiss,  and  plays  the  while 

With  her  unbraided  tresses  — 
The  shepherds  who  have  wooed  in  vain, 

In  sorrow  doom'd  to  languish, 
Behold  the  happy  envied  swain, 

And  sigh  with  jealous  anguish. 

Composed  for  the  Melo-drama  of  the  Widow's  Son. 
1* 


MELODIES. 

<£ome  to  tug  (Eot 

Air — Croos-kccn  Lawn. 

I've  a  peaceful  little  cot, 
In  a  charming  rural  spot, 

Far  removed  from  the  town's  busy  hum, 
Where  neither  strife  nor  noise 
Can  molest  our  placid  joys, 

O  then  hither  to  my  cot  will  you  come? 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 
O  haste,  my  dearest  maid, 
And  enjoy  the  fragrant  shade, 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come? 

The  honeysuckle  there 
With  its  odour  fills  the  air, 
And  the  fir  lends  its  fragrant  gum, 
While  on  every  verdant  spray 
Little  songsters  carol  gay, 
O  then  hither  to  my  cot  will  you  come  .* 
To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 
O  haste,  my  dearest  maid,  &c. 

Thro'  the  garden,  and  the  mead 
Where  the  lambkins  play  and  feed, 

Swells  the  honey-bee's  tuneful  hum, 
While  the  distant  lowing  kine, 
With  the  waterfall,  combine 

To  invite  vou  to  mv  cot — Will  vou  come 


PASTORAL. 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 
O  haste,  my  dearest  maid, 
And  enjoy  the  fragrant  shade, 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 

And  when  the  evening's  shade 

Is  extending  o'er  the  glade, 
And  the  woodpecker  ceases  to  drum, 

Then  the  pensive  whipperwill, 

From  the  forest  or  the  hill, 
Still  invites  you  to  my  cot — Will  you  come? 
To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 

O  haste,  my  dearest  maid,  &c. 

Dearest  maiden,  linger  not, 
Come  and  share  my  peaceful  lot, 

Far  removed  from  the  town's  busy  hum, 
For  if  Eden  seem'd  a  wild 
Until  lovely  woman  smiled, 

O  how  can  I  be  happy  till  you  come  ? 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come? 
Then  haste,  my  dearest  maid, 
And  enjoy  the  fragrant  shade, 

To  my  rural  little  cot  will  you  come  ? 


Whate'cr  the  charms  of  mead  or  grove, 
In  nature's  brightest  colours  drest, 

Of  all  the  flowers  that  bloom,  I  love 
The  modest  primrose  best. 


MELODIES. 


jtttlftmacOr. 

Music  arranged  by  E.  Riley. 

When  blushing  Aurora  first  tinges  the  east, 
Arousing  the  musical  choirs  of  the  wood, 
Inviting  the  bees  to  a  nectarous  feast, 

And  the  flocks  to  partake  of  their  dew-sprinkled  foot 
As  blithe  and  as  gay  as  the  new-  wakened  day, 
I  rise  and  go  tripping  with  milk-pail  away, 
And  hark  !  the  sweet  lark,  kindly  perch'd  on  the  sprai 
Responsively  echoes  my  blithe  roundelay. 

The  innocent  plunder  I  draw  from  the  kine 
Is  richly  repaid  in  the  fields  where  they  roam, 

And  a  second  supply  they  will  gladly  resign, 

When  evening  invites,  and  they  lowing  come  home. 

Then,  cheerful  and  gay  as  the  first  smile  of  day, 

Again  will  I  trip  it  with  milk-pail  away  ; 

And  hark  !  the  sweet  lark,  kindly  perch'd  on  the  spro 

Responsively  echoes  my  blithe  roundelay. 


Ye  fair,  who  seek  a  splendid  lot, 
Behold  content,  a  richer  prize, 

Within  the  humblest  ploughman's  cot, 
That  rank  and  pride  despise. 

In  palace  or  cot,  whatever  your  lot, 
The  farmer  your  table  supplies. 


PASTORAL. 


Site 

Music  by  Dames.* 

The  morn  awakes,  in  blushes  dress'd, 

The  lambs  are  all  at  play, 
The  blackbird  quits  his  dewy  nest, 

And  carols  on  the  spray  ; 
The  milkmaid  hails  the  rosy  dawn, 

The  shepherd  seeks  his  fleecy  flock, 
The  woods  resound  to  the  hunter's  horn, 

All  roused  by  the  village  clock. 
Tick!  tick!—  tick!  tick!—  tick!  tick! 

All  roused  by  the  village  clock. 

The  milky  herd  their  stores  resign, 

And  soon  regain  the  mead, 
Where  cooling  shades  and  streams  combine 

To  cheer  them  while  they  feed. 
When  evening  twilight  veils  the  lawn, 

Again  the  milkmaid  trips  away, 
While  woods  resound  to  the  distant  horn, 

At  the  closing  hour  of  day. 
Tick!  tick!—  tick!  tick!—  tick!  tick! 

At  the  closing  hour  of  day. 


No  more  pursue  the  city's  fleeting  toys, 
But  seek,  in  rural  scenes,  for  calmer  joys. 

*  As  sung  in  tlie  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


jO  MELODIES. 

of 


Music  arranged  by  E.  Riley. 

Arise,  my  love  —  the  sun  appears 

To  gild  the  infant  day, 
His  golden  beam  the  landscape  cheers, 
And  nature  smiles  amid  her  tears, 

To  greet  the  morn  of  May. 

Arise,  my  love  —  the  lilac  blooms, 

The  blossom'd  peach  is  gay, 
The  mead  its  flowery  vest  resumes, 
And  freights  the  zephyr  with  perfumes, 
To  cheer  the  morn  of  May. 

O  !  then  arise  —  'tis  love  invites, 

Together  let  us  stray  ; 
Thy  form,  which  every  charm  unites, 
Shall  lend  a  thousand  new  delights 

To  gild  the  morn  of  May. 


Air — Cottage  on  the  moor. 

Let  others  for  grandeur  and  opulence  toil, 
I'd  share  not  their  turbulent  joys  if  I  could, 

The  treasure  I  seek  is  affection's  sweet  smile, 
In  a  neat  little  cottage  that  stands  near  a  wood. 


PASTOKAi,.  11 

JFatfter's  JFarm* 

Music  by  Davies.* 

Believe  me,  if  there's  aught  on  earth, 

That  can  each  grief  disarm, 
Tis  the  sweet  spot  which  gave  me  birth, 
When  smiling  memory  paints  its  worth, 

It  is  my  father's  farm. 

For  every  native  rural  charm 

Adorns  my  father's  farm. 

Though  fancy's  flight  may  mock  the  bias* 

To  seek  some  distant  charm, 
How  soon  her  eyes  are  homeward  cast ! 
She  roves  awhile,  but  lights,  at  last, 

Upon  my  father's  farm. 

For  every  native  rural  charm 

Adorns  my  father's  farm. 


And  now  relieved  from  day's  turmoil, 
Let  festive  pleasures  fill  each  breast, 

And  no  intruding  sorrows  spoil 
The  song  and  mirthful  jest. 

For  lords  of  the  soil,  and  fed  by  our  toil, 
American  farmers  are  blest. 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


12  MELODIES. 


Bucfcet 

Air—  The  Flower  of  Dumblane 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view  ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wild-wood, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew  ! 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  that  stood  by  it, 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell, 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it, 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail'd  as  a  treasure, 

For  often  at  noon,  when  return'd  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure, 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing, 

And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell  ; 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing, 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it, 
As  poised  on  the  curb  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 

Not  a  full  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it 
The  brightest  that  beauty  or  revelry  sit)?. 


PASTORAL.  13 

And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  habitation, 
The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell, 

As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  that  hangs  in  the  well — 

The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 

The  moss-covered  bucket  that  hangs  in  the  well ! 


Musw  by  Davies..., Arranged  as  a  Trio.* 

Here,  in  scenes  of  sweet  seclusion, 
Far  from  bustling  towns,  we  dwell, 

While  around,  in  rich  profusion, 
Autumn's  yellow  bounties  swell. 

There,  the  loaded  fruit-trees,  bending, 
Strew  with  mellow  gold  the  land ; 

Here,  on  high,  from  vines  impending, 
Purple  clusters  court  the  hand. 

All  the  day,  to  recreate  us, 

Strains  of  music  freight  the  breeze, 
Healthful  sports  at  eve  await  us, 

What  are  city  joys  to  these? 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose- 


14  MELODIES. 


Air  —  Away  with  contention. 

'Twas  noon,  and  the  reapers  reposed  on  the  bank 

Where  our  rural  repast  had  been  spread, 
Beside  us  meandered  the  rill  where  we  drank, 

And  the  green  willows  waved  overhead. 
Lucinda,  the  queen  of  our  rustical  treat, 

With  smiles,  like  the  season,  auspicious, 
Had  rendered  the  scene  and  the  banquet  more  sweet, 

But,  oh!  the  dessert  was  delicious! 

A  melon,  the  richest  that  loaded  the  vine, 

The  kind-hearted  damsel  had  brought, 
Its  crimson  core  teem'd  with  the  sweetest  of  wine, 

"How  much  like  her  kisses!"  I  thought. 
And  I  said,  as  its  nectarous  juices  I  quafT'd, 

"  How  vain  are  the  joys  of  the  vicious  ! 
No  tropical  fruit  ever  furnish'd  a  draught 

So  innocent,  pure,  and  delicious. 

In  the  seeds  which  embellish  this  red  juicy  core 

An  emblem  of  life  we  ^ay  view, 
For  human  enjoyments  are  thus  sprinkled  o'er 

With  specks  of  an  ebony  hue. 
But  if  we  are  wise  to  discard  from  the  mind 

Every  thought  and  affection  that's  vicious, 
Like  the  seed-speckled  core  of  the  melon,  we'll  find 

Each  innocent  pleasure  delicious." 


PASTORAL. 


Cottage 

Music  by  Swindells.* 

The  cottage  lass,  the  courtly  dame, 

The  child  of  toil,  and  slave  of  fashion, 
Alike  disown  the  mystic  flame, 

Yet  feed  with  sighs  the  tender  passion. 
Each  heart,  ere  age  its  fervour  chills, 

Is  doom'd  by  turns  to  throb  and  languish, 
And  prove  the  thousand  nameless  thrills 

Of  bashful  love's  delicious  anguish. 

But  infant  love  attempts  in  vain 

To  fan  the  flame  with  gilded  pinion, 
And  quickly  bursts  the  heavy  chain 

That  ties  him  down  to  wealth's  dominion. 
For  ah  !  that  flame  but  seldom  lives 

In  breasts  with  gaudy  splendour  laden, 
Nor  yields  them  half  the  joy  it  gives 

The  bashful,  blooming,  cottage  maiden. 


Air — Cottage  on  the  moor. 

The  fortune  I  crave,  and  I  covet  no  more, 
Is  health,  rural  pleasures,  apparel,  and  food, 

The  friend  that  I  love,  and  the  girl  I  adore, 
In  a  neat  little  cottage  that  stands  near  a  wood 

*  Composed  for  the  Melo-drama  of  the  Widow's  Son. 


16  MELODIES. 

Smtle  of 

JMusic  by 

Is  there  a  light  whose  effulgence  can  dry 
The  tear  of  affliction,  and  rapture  restore? 

'Tis  the  bright  sunny  ray  of  a  love-beaming  eye, 
The  smile  of  affection  from  one  I  adore. 

I'd  sigh  not  for  grandeur,  for  fame,  or  for  wealth, 
But,  thankful  for  little,  would  wish  for  no  more, 

If  blest  with  a  cottage,  with  friendship,  and  health, 
And  the  smile  of  affection  from  one  I  adore. 


23aitn  of  tiie 

When  the  mild  star  of  evening  invites  to  the  bower, 
Where  music  and  mirth  are  to  revel  an  hour, 
Dismiss  gloomy  care,  and  bid  sorrow  depart, 
For  innocent  mirth  is  the  balm  of  the  heart, 

Every  pleasure  is  fleeting,  and  hastens  away, 
The  fairest  blown  rose  is  the  first  to  decay; 
Then  taste  of  its  fragrance  before  it  depart, 
For  innocent  mirth  is  the  balm  of  the  heart. 

Quickly  hasten  then  hither,  ye  youth  and  ye  fair, 
With  eyes  beaming  pleasure,  and  hearts  void  of  care; 
Partake  of  the  joys  which  our  revels  impart, 
For  innocent  mirth  is  the  balm  of  the  heart. 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


PASTORAL.  17 


of  tfie  ^ 

Jlir  —  o  hie  thee  hame,  Willie. 

.    *••'•*.' 
The  pride  of  the  valley  is  lovely  young  Ellen, 

Who  dwells  in  a  cottage  enshrined  by  a  thicket, 
Contentment  and  peace  are  the  wealth  of  her  dwelling, 

And  truth  is  the  porter  that  waits  at  the  wicket. 
The  zephyr  that  lingers  on  violet-down  pinion, 

With  spring's  blushing  honours  delighted  to  dally, 
Ne'er  breathed  on  a  blossom  in  Flora's  dominion, 

So  lovely  as  Ellen,  the  pride  of  the  valley. 

She's  true  to  her  friend,  and  she's  kind  to  her  mother, 

Nor  riches  nor  honours  can  tempt  her  from  duty  ; 
Content  with  her  station  she  sighs  for  no  other, 

Tho'  fortunes  and  titles  have  knelt  to  her  beauty. 
To  me  her  affections  and  promise  are  plighted, 

Our  ages  are  equal,  our  tempers  will  tally  ; 
Oh,  moment  of  rapture  !  that  sees  me  united 

To  lovely  young  Ellen,  the  pride  of  the  valley. 


While  flocks  and  herds  in  safety  feed, 
The  shepherd  wakes  his  tuneful  reed ; 
Or,  leaning  on  his  rustic  crook, 
Beneath  the  shade,  beside  a  brook, 
Carols  the  lazy  hours  away, 
Till  sylvan  echoes  catch  the  lay. 
2* 


18  MELODIES. 


Banting 

Music  by  Dames.* 

Sweet  the  hour,  when,  freed  from  labour, 

Lads  and  lasses  thus  convene, 
To  the  merry  pipe  and  tabour, 

Dancing  gaily  on  the  green. 
To  the  merry  pipe  and  tabour, 

Dancing  gaily,  &c. 

Nymphs,  with  all  their  native  graces, 
Swains  with  every  charm  to  win, 

Sprightly  steps,  and  smiling  faces, 
Tell  of  happy  hearts  within. 

Sweet  the  hour,  when,  freed  from  labour,  &c. 

Blest  with  plenty,  here  the  farmer 

Toils  for  those  he  loves  alone, 
While  some  pretty  smiling  charmer, 

Like  the  land,  is  all  his  own. 
Sweet  the  hour,  when,  freed  from  labour,  &c. 

Though  a  tear  for  prospects  blighted, 

May,  at  times,  unbidden  flow, 
Yet  the  heart  will  bound  delighted, 

Where  such  kindred  bosoms  glow. 
Sweet  the  hour,  when,  freed  from  labour,  &c« 

*  Sung  in  the  I'astortJ  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


PASTORAL.  19 


Air—  Young  Henry  was  as  brave  a  youth. 

Let  those  whose  hearts  have  learn'd  to  glow 
With  love  that  ne'er  can  change  or  vary, 

Permit  one  pitying  tear  to  flow 

O'er  the  cold  grave  of  hapless  Mary. 

She  loved,  alas  !  a  treacherous  youth, 
Who  feign'd  to  love  the  artless  fairy; 

Too  late  she  proved  him  void  of  truth, 
And  death  relieved  the  hapless  Mary. 

No  more  she  shines  the  queen  of  May, 
Nor  graces  more  the  rustic  dairy, 

For  ah  !  the  spoiler  bore  away 
The  rifled  sweets  of  hapless  Mary. 

O  then,  ye  artless  nymphs,  beware  ! 

In  trusting  faithless  man,  be  wary, 
And  thus  escape  the  fiend  Despair, 

That  dug  the  grave  of  hapless  Mary. 


While  slaves  of  ambition  sell  comfort  for  fame, 
Be  mine  the  applause  of  the  wise  and  the  good, 

A  conscience  that  daily  acquits  me  of  blame, 
In  a  neat  little  cottage  that  stands  near  a  wood. 


20  MELODIES 

STJie  gUrCett. 

Air — The  sun  sets  at  night 

0  green  was  the  poplar,  when,  under  its  shade,  ; 

1  exchanged  the  soft  vow  with  my  shepherdess  maid ; 
But  winter  soon  blighted  its  sweet  summer  hue, 

So  hope  faded  when  I  bade  Lilla  adieu. 

Be  constant,  I  sighed,  till  thy  Damon  return, 
For  still  this  fond  bosom  for  Lilla  will  burn ; 
My  heart,  like  the  compass,  to  love  shall  be  true, 
She  wept,  as  I  rmirnmr'd — dear  Lilla,  adieu! 

But  doom'd  was  my  Lilla  another  to  bless, 
And  doom'd  is  her  Darnon  to  pine  in  distress; 
Like  leaves  of  the  poplar,  which  tempests  then  strew, 
My  hopes  were  all  scattered — so,  Lilla,  adieu ! 

The  spring  soon  return 'd,  and  the  poplar  was  drest, 

But  peace  had  for  ever  forsaken  my  breast ; 

From  the  music  of  nature  no  comfort  I  drew, 

For  the  birds  and  the  streams  murmur'd,  Lilla,  adieu  I 

*   •  V  *v*  -«*. 
When,  torn  by  my  sorrows,  I  bow  to  my  doom, 

Will  a  tear  from  my  Lilla  e'er  fall  on  my  tomb? 
When  the  leaves  on  the  poplar  are  blasted  and  few, 
They'll  sigh  in  the  breeze,  dearest  Lilla,  adieu ! 


PASTORAL.  21 


Air  —  Blue-eyed  Mary. 

They  sing  of  blue-eyed  Mary, 

Who  gathered  flowers  to  sell, 
But  there's  a  sweeter  fairy, 

In  Harlem's  flowery  dell; 
Whose  violets,  pinks,  and  roses, 

Display  a  richer  bloom, 
'Twere  bliss  to  gain  such  posies, 

And  taste  their  rich  perfume. 

The  violet's  softest  azure 

Is  swimming  in  her  eye  ; 
The  rose's  vermil  treasure, 

On  cither  cheek  we  spy  ; 
The  fragrant  pink's  carnation, 

Its  nectar  and  perfume, 
In  sweetest  combination, 

Have  dress'd  her  lips  in  bloom. 

And  she  has  learn'd  to  cherish 

A  never-fading  flower  ; 
When  pinks  and  'roses  perish 

'Twill  still  adorn  her  bower; 
Its  tints  will  never  vary, 

Its  fragrance  ne'er  depart, 
'Twill  always  bloom  with  Mary, 

'Tis  planted  in  her  heart. 


MELODIES. 

Bashful  Slofoer, 

Music  by  Davies.* 

When  bashful  Lubin  sought  my  hand, 

My  heart  his  suit  approved, 
But,  feigning  not  to  understand, 

I  listened  still  unmoved. 
For  dim,  I  thought,  must  burn  that  flame, 

Which  such  a  check  could  smother, 
And  sprightly  girls  are  not  to  blame 

To  spurn  a  bashful  lover. 

Poor  Lubin  told  a  friend  his  case, 

Who  soon  his  fears  allay'd, 
And  bade  him  wear  a  bolder  face — 

He  listened,  and  obey'd. 
Returning  soon,  with  altered  mien, 

He  might  at  once  discover, 
That  sprightly  girls,  of  gay  sixteen, 

Ne'er  spurn  a  saucy  lover. 


In  life's  fair  morn,  when  sunshine  warm'd  the  scene, 
And  fairy  hopes  danced  o'er  the  laughing  green, 
My  infant  muse  essay'd  the  artless  strain, 
On  Charles's  bank,  or  Newton's  verdant  plain. 

*  As  sung  In  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


PASTORAL.  23 


'Tis  pleasant,  when  the  world  is  still, 

And  evening's  mantle  shrouds  the  vale, 
To  hear  the  pensive  whipperwill 

Pour  her  deep  notes  along  the  dale  ; 
While  through  the  self-taught  rustic's  flute 

Wild  warblings  wake  upon  the  gale, 
And  from  each  thicket,  marsh,  and  tree, 
The  cricket,  frog,  and  katy-dee, 
With  various  notes  assist  the  glee, 

Nor  once  through  all  the  night  are  mute. 

The  streamlet  murmurs  o'er  its  bed, 

The  wanton  zephyrs  kiss  its  breast, 
Bid  the  green  bulrush  bend  its  head, 

And  sigh  thro'  groves  in  verdure  dress'd  ; 
While  Cynthia,  from  her  silver  horn, 

Throws  magic  shades  o'er  evening's  vest  ; 
Sheds  smiles  upon  the  brow  of  night, 
Not  dazzling,  like  day's  shower  of  light, 
But  soft  as  dew,  which  mocks  the  sight 

Till  seen  to  sparkle  on  the  thorn. 


Now  sober  Pomona  has  won 

The  frolicksome  Flora's  domains, 

And  the  work  the  gay  goddess  begun, 
The  height  of  maturity  gains. 


24  MELODIES. 

X  lobe  to  hear, 

I  love  to  hear  the  flute's  sweet  notes, 

On  zephyr's  balmy  pinion  borne ; 
While  soft  the  melting  cadence  floats, 
And  sighing  echoes  wake  to  mourn. 
Stealing  on  the  raptured  ear, 
At  the  closing  hour  of  day, 
Wildly  warbling,  sweet  and  clear, 
Grateful  as  affection's  tear, 
Then  in  murmurs  die  away. 

I  love  to  hear,  when  blushing  morn 

First  tips  the  clouds  with  rosy  hue, 
The  new-waked  lark  salute  the  dawn, 
His  matin  song  of  praise  renew. 
Singing  as  he  skims  the  plain, 
Or  directs  his  flight  above ; 
Waking  all  the  tuneful  train 
To  begin  the  sylvan  strain, 
Harmonizing  every  grove. 

I  love  to  hear,  when  mid-day  heat 

With  listless  languor  fills  the  brain, 
Deep  in  some  shady,  cool  retreat, 
The  distant  waterfall  complain, 
As  it  leaps  the  craggy  mound, 

Pouring  down  the  rocky  height, 
Foaming  o'er  the  pebbled  ground, 
While  it  sparkles  on  the  sight. 


PASTORAL.  25 

But  when  with  her,  whose  image  dwells 

Within  my  glowing  breast,  I  stray, 
The  music  more  divinely  swells, 

The  lark  more  sweetly  tunes  his  lay; 
While  beneath  the  shade  we  rove, 

Murmuring  streamlets  sooth  the  ear, 
Thro'  the  calm  sequestered  grove, 
Echo  whispers  only  love — 
Cupids  only  hover  near. 


or 

Air — Sweep  Soot,  Ho! 

The  groves  their  vernal  sweets  have  lost. 

No  blossoms  now  perfume  the  gale, 
The  lawns  are  silvered  o'er  with  frost, 

And  autumn  lingers  in  the  vale. 
But  do  the  seasons,  as  they  roll, 

Affect  the  heart  with  joy  and  wo  ? 
Can  autumn  thus  depress  the  soul : 

Or  spring  elate  it  ?— Yes,  or  no  ? 

The  grove  again  shall  yield  its  shade, 

And  vernal  sweets  perfume  the  gale, 
The  modest  violet  deck  the  glade, 

And  richest  verdure  clothe  the  vale. 
But  will  the  flower  of  hope  survive, 

And  gain  from  spring  a  brighter  glow? 
A  smile,  sweet  maid,  would  bid  it  thrive, 

Wilt  thou  bestow  it  ?— Yes,  or  no  ? 
3 


26  MELODIES. 


STomfc  ctf 


Composed  by  Phillips;  also  by  Clifton;  but  originally 
adapted  to  the  air  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay. 

Where  Hudson's  murmuring  billows 

Kiss  Jersey's  verdant  shore, 
Beneath  those  spreading  willows 

Sleeps  Henry  of  the  moor. 
The  pride  of  all  the  plain 
Was  Anna's  chosen  swain  : 
But  Anna  weeps,  for  Henry  sleeps 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree. 

They  loved  with  pure  affection, 
Their  artless  souls  were  true  ; 

The  promising  connexion 
Their  friends  with  rapture  view, 

And  name  the  morn  of  May 

Their  happy  wedding  day. 
But  Anna  weeps,  for  Henry  sleeps 

Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree. 

They  hail  the  rising  morrow, 

Which  dawns  to  see  them  blest  ; 
But  ah  !  ere  eve,  what  sorrow 
Fills  Anna's  lovely  breast  ! 
She  sees  the  Hudson's  wave 
Become  her  Henry's  grave  ; 
And  Anna  weeps,  for  Henry  sleeps 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree. 


PASTORAL.  27 

She  tears  her  flowing  tresses, 

Invokes  his  parted  breath, 
And  with  her  wild  caresses 

Invites  him  back  from  death ; 
But  ah !  her  lip's  warm  kiss 
Imparts  no  glow  to  his ! 
And  Anna  weeps,  for  Henry  sleeps 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree. 

She  sees  beneath  the  willow 

Her  lover  laid  to  rest, 
The  earth  his  nuptial  pillow, 

And  not  her  virgin  breast. 
Around  his  verdant  tomb 
The  early  daisies  bloom  ; 
There  Anna  weeps,  there  Henry  sleeps 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree. 


The  noblest  talent  love  can  claim, 
Is  never  to  appear  the  same ; 
For  'tis  variety  alone, 
That  props  the  urchin-tyrant's  throne. 
So  do  the  seasons,  as  they  range, 
Afford  new  pleasure  when  they  change : 
The  sweetest  flower  would  cease  to  cheer, 
Should  fragrant  spring  bloom  all  the  year. 


MELODIES. 

JHornfng. 

The  blushing  precursor  of  Phoebus  expands 

The  crystalline  portals  of  light ; 
And  scatters  the  dew-dripping  tints  from  her  hande, 

To  crimson  the  mantle  of  night. 
Sleep  shakes  his  soft  pinions  and  soars  to  the  sky, 

With  rapture  I  greet  my  dear  Jane, 
Whose  health-glowing  visage  and  love-beaming  eye, 

Aurora  but  mimics  in  vain- 
Good  Morning. 

Thy  presence  to  me  is  the  dawning  of  light, 

And  pleasure  illumines  my  breast ; 
But,  ah  !  in  thy  absence,  rnorn  changes  to  night — 

Hope  sinks  like  the  star  of  the  west. 
Then  let  us,  my  fair  one,  the  moments  improve 

Which  morning  allows  us  for  bliss, 
Let  the  new-risen  day  be  devoted  to  love, 

And,  in  earnest,  accept  of  a  kiss — 
Good  Morning. 

When  evening  returns,  and  in  slumber  I  lie, 

Then  fancy  the  scene  shall  retrace ; 
Shall  light  up  anew  the  soft  glance  of  thine  eye, 

And  restore  me  thy  blissful  embrace. 
And  when  thro'  the  lattice  Aurora's  tints  play, 

O  fly  to  the  arms  of  thy  swain, 
With  him  taste  the  sweets  of  the  infantile  day, 

And  hear  him  repeat,  on  the  plain- 
Good  Morning1. 


PASTORAL.  29 


Aurora  paints  the  orient  skies  with  light, 

With  rosy  pencil  tinges  every  cloud, 
Unfolds  her  gates  upon  the  rear  of  night, 

And  strips  the  mountain  of  its  sable  shroud. 

The  conscious  stars  conceal  their  twinkling  fires, 
Night's  waning  empress  turns  more  sickly  pale, 

Her  votary  the  whizzing  bat  retires, 

The  owl  suspends  her  harsh  complaining  tale. 

The  lark  awakes  and  tunes  his  matin  song, 
And  all  the  sylvan  warblers  join  the  theme, 

The  whistling  ploughman  drives  his  team  along, 
And  sporting  swans  sail  stately  down  the  stream. 

The  peach-bloom  in  the  breathing  zephyr  plays, 
And  shakes  soft  odours  from  its  silken  leaves  ; 

The  apple,  too,  a  silver  garb  displays, 

Whence  morning's  breath  a  rich  perfume  receives. 

And  see  !  the  ocean  sparkles  on  the  sight, 
What  lovely  hues  upon  its  surface  play  ; 

The  liquid  mirror  streams  with  dazzling  light, 
Reflected  from  the  rising  god  of  day. 

Adieu,  dull  couch  !  for  nature  more  can  please, 
While  o'er  her  rich  enamel'd  breast  I  stray, 

Inhaling  sweets  which  freight  the  balmy  breeze, 
Stolen  in  kisses  from  the  lips  of  May. 
3* 


30  MELODIES. 


Air  —  When  poor,  the  spirits  flag. 

When  mellow  autumn  yields 

All  her  golden  treasures, 
Then  those  who  dress'  d  the  fields, 

Partake  of  harvest  pleasures. 
This,  lads,  is  harvest-home  : 

Those  who  labour  daily, 
Well  know  'tis  sweet  to  come, 

And  pass  the  evening  gaily. 
Then  let  each  heart  be  light, 

Here's  no  room  for  sorrow, 
Joy  holds  her  court  to  night, 

Care  may  call  to-morrow. 

Now  labour  wipes  his  brow, 

Rest  and  plenty  wait  him, 
Barn,  cellar,  rick,  and  mow, 

Are  fill'd  to  recreate  him. 
Scythe,  sickle,  rake  and  hoe, 

All  are  now  suspended, 
Like  trophies  in  a  row, 

For  future  use  intended. 

Then  let  each  heart  be  light, 

Here's  no  room  for  sorrow, 

Joy  holds  her  court  to-night, 

Care  may  call  to-morrow. 


PASTORAL.  31 

Now  gay  Pomona's  store 

Past  exertions  blesses; 
Rich  streams  of  nectar  pour, 

Sparkling  from  her  presses, 
j^ull  goblets,  steaming  board, 

Crown  the  farmer's  labours, 
These  real  bliss  afford, 

When  shared  by  jovial  neighbours.  . 
Then  let  each  heart  beat  light,  &c. 


,  nig  treat  Jane, 

Air — Sweet  Home. 

Thro'  curtains  of  crimson  and  azure,  my  Jane* 
Infant  day,  in  its  cradle,  is  smiling  again ; 
Its  eyelids  are  gem'd  with  the  dew-drops  of  night, 
Which  glitter  and  sparkle  like  pearls  in  the  light. 
Jane !  sweet  Jane ! — Awake,  my  dear  Jane ! 

O  list  to  the  warblings  that  float  on  the  air ! 
The  gay  feathered  songsters  are  calling  my  fair ! 
The  blackbird  and  robin* the  linnet  and  jay, 
All  join  with  thy  Sandy  to  call  thee  away. 

Jane !  sweet  Jane ! — Awake,  my  dear  Jane  ! 

The  lads  and  the  lasses  are  all  on  the  green, 
The  shepherds  have  chosen  my  Jane  for  their  queen, 
The  May-pole  is  rear'd,  and  the  garlands  are  twined. 
And  a  balm-breathing  wreath  is  for  Jenny^  design'd. 
Jane !  sweet  Jane ! — Awake,  my  dear  Jane ! 


33  MELODIES. 


she  ICfee  me* 

Air  —  Allen  a  Roan,  or  Robin  Adair. 

0  say,  my  flattering  heart, 
Loves  she  like  me? 

Is  her's  thy  counterpart, 

Throbs  it  like  thee? 
Does  she  remember  yet, 
The  spot  where  first  we  met, 
Which  I  shall  ne'er  forget, 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 

Soft  echoes  still  repeat, 

"Loves  she  like  me?" 
When  on  that  mossy  seat, 

Beneath  the  tree, 

1  wake  my  amorous  lay, 
While  lambkins  round  me  play, 
And  whispering  zephyrs  say, 

Loves  she  like  me? 

• 
On  her  I  think  by  day, 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 
With  her  in  dreams  I  stray, 

O'er  mead  or  lea. 
My  hopes  of  earthly  bliss 
Are  all  comprised  in  this, 
To  share  hor  nuptial  kiss, 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 


PASTORAL. 

Does  absence  give  her  pain  ? 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 
And  does  she  thus  arraign 

Fortune's  decree? 
Does  she  my  name  repeat  ? 
Will  she  with  rapture  greet 
The  hour  that  sees  us  meet  ? 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 


a  Streamlet 

Beside  a  streamlet,  where  the  whispering  reeda 
And-  fragrant  flags  upon  its  borders  play, 

Where  down  the  valley  it  meandering  leads, 
My  infant  footsteps  first  were  taught  to  stray. 

ThesylvanMuse  enticed  me  to  her  cell, 

My  childish  fingers  wanton'd  o'er  her  lyre, 

And,  pleased  to  hear  the  rustic  numbers  swell, 

I  fondly  thought  that  others  must  admire. 

So,  as  I  grew,  and  learn'd  to  sweep  the  strings, 
By  art  directed,  though  less  sweetly  wild, 

I  envied  not  the  happiness  of  kings, 
My  lyre  was  bliss,  and  I  a  happy  child. 

With  fond  regret  I  left  that  calm  retreat, 
Diversified  with  meadows,  groves,  and  hills, 

Where  nature's  charms  in  sweet  disorder  meet, 
With  Charles's  thousand  tributary  rills. 


34  MELODIES. 


Air—  The  Braes  of  Balquhither. 

It  is  sweet,  love,  to  stray, 

When  the  noon-tide  is  over, 
Thro'  the  wind-rows  of  hay, 

And  the  white-blossom'd  clover  ; 
Where  each  lass  may  partake 

In  the  toil  and  the  pleasure, 
Keeping  time,  with  the  rake, 

To  the  lark's  tuneful  measure 
O  'tis  sweet  thus  to  stray, 

When  the  noon-tide  is  over, 
Thro'  the  wind-rows  of  hay, 

And  the  white-blossom'd  clover. 

There  the  swains  cut  their  paths 

Thro'  the  sections  assign'd  them, 
Leaving  sweet-scented  swaths 

Swelling  gaily  behind  them. 
Tender  childhood  and  age, 

Sturdy  manhood  and  beauty, 
All  with  ardour  engage 

In  so  pleasing  a  duty. 
O  'tis  sweet  thus  to  stray, 

When  the  noon-tide  is  over, 
Thro'  the  wind-rows  of  hay, 

And  the  white-blossom'd  clover. 


PASTORAL.  35 

As  the  billow  of  grass 

O'er  the  meadow  is  driven, 
By  some  rose-visaged  lass 

'Tis  divided  and  riven, 
When  her  swain  lends  his  aid, 

And  the  green  hillock  rises, 
Then  the  half- willing  maid 

With  a  sly  kiss  surprises. 
O  'tis  sweet  thus  to  stray, 

When  the  noon-tide  is  over, 
Thro'  the  wind-rows  of  hay, 

And  the  white-blossom'd  clover. 

See  the  gay  romping  elves, 

Now  the  sweet  task  is  over, 
All  amusing  themselves, 

On  the  balm-breathing  clover ; 
There  the  sv/ain  whispers  love 

To  his  heart's  dearest  treasure, 
Who  affects  to  reprove, 

While  her  eyes  beam  with  pleasure 
O  'tis  sweet  thus  to  stray, 

When  the  noon-tide  is  over, 
Thro'  the  wind-rows  of  hay, 

And  the  white-blossom'd  clover. 


How  oft,  reclined  beside  a  babbling  stream 
I  sang  of  love — a  minstrel's  sweetest  dream, 
And  sang  sincerely — for  I  felt  the  theme. 


MELODIES. 


AND    SENTIMENTAL. 


A    SMILE    FROM    TZI2E. 

Music  by  Davies.* 

A  smile  from  thee  would  banish  pain, 

And  bid  each  doubt  and  sorrow  flee, 
I  ask  but  this,  once  more  to  gain 

A  smile  from  thee. 
I've  sought  thee  long,  with  fruitless  sighs, 

And  were  my  bright  reward  to  be 
A  tender  glance  from  those  soft  eyes, 

'Twere  heaven  to  me. 
A  smile  from  thee  would  banish  pain,  &;c. 

But  ah  !  if  doom'd  no  more  to  meet, 
Whate'er  my  future  fate  may  be, 
This  faithful  heart  will  ever  beat 

With  love  for  thee. 
And  when  I  close  a  life  of  pain, 

The  gloomy  hour  of  death  will  be 
An  hour  of  bliss,  if  then  I  gain 

A  tear  from  thee. 
A  smile  from  thee  would  banish  pain,  &c 


*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Op-fa  of  the  Forest  Rose. 
4 


38  MELODIES. 

THE   WREATH   OP   LOVE. 

Air — Lovely  JVan. 

Let  Fame  her  wreath  for  others  twine, 
The  fragrant  wreath  of  love  be  mine, 

With  halm-distilling  hlossoms  wove ; 
Let  the  shrill  trumpet's  hoarse  alarms 
Bid  laurels  grace  the  victor's  arms, 

Where  havoc's  blood-stain'd  banners  move ; 
Be  mine  to  wake  the  softer  notes 
Where  Acidalia's  banner  floats, 

And  weave  the  gentler  wreath  of  love. 

The  balmy  rose  let  stoics  scorn, 

Let  squeamish  mortals  dread  the  thorn, 

And  fear  the  pleasing  pain  to  prove ; 
I'll  fearless  bind  it  to  my  heart, 
While  every  pang  its  thorns  impart 

The  floweret's  balsam  shall  remove ; 
For,  sweetened  by  the  nectared  kiss, 
'Tis  pain  that  gives  a  zest  to  bliss, 

And  freshens  still  the  wreath  of  love. 

Give  me  contentment,  peace,  and  health, 
A  moderate  share  of  worldly  wealth, 

And  friends  such  blessings  to  improve ; 
A  heart  to  give  when  misery  pleads, 
To  heal  or  bind  each  wound  that  bleeds, 

And  every  mental  pain  remove ; 


AMATORY.  39 

But  with  these  give — else  all  deny — 
The  fair  for  whom  I  breathe  the  sigh, 
And  wedlock  be  a  wreath  of  love. 

Connubial  bliss,  unknown  to  strife, 
A  faithful  friend — a  virtuous  wife, 

Be  mine  for  many  years  to  prove  : 
Our  wishes  one,  within  each  breast 
The  dove  of  peace  shall  make  her  nest, 

Nor  ever  from  the  ark  remove ; 
Till  call'd  to  heav'n,  through  ages  there 
Be  ours  the  blissful  lot  to  wear 

A  never-fading  wreath  of  love. 


THE 

Music  by  Dairies.* 

That  tranquil  brow,  and  pensive  eye, 

Those  parted  lips  of  ruby  die ; 

Each  grace  that  life  and  reason  give, 

Is  kindling  here,  and  seems  to  live ! 

A  playful  smile  illumes  the  cheek ! 

Those  rubies  move!— 'twill  speak !— 'twill  speak! 

'Twas  fancy  all ! — That  senseless  bone 
Could  ne'er  be  taught  her  dulcet  tone: 
No  art  can  teach  that  eye  to  move, 
Those  ruby  lips  are  dead  to  love. 
Illusive  dream ! — too  soon  it  flies, 
The  vision  fades ! — it  dies ! — it  dies ! 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


40  MELODIES. 


Jllusic  l»j  Davies.* 

The  heart  sustain'd  by  hope  alone, 
The  pains  of  absence  may  endure, 

But,  ah!  when  even  hope  is  flown, 
Its  sorrow  has  no  cure. 

'Tis  then  we  sigh,  where'er  we  roam, 

For  our  maternal,  peaceful  home. 

Tho'  mourning  like  a  mateless  dove, 
The  languid  heart  be  doom'd  to  beat, 

It  cannot,  will  not,  cease  to  love, 
It  finds  the  pain  so  sweet  ; 

Yet  heaves  a  sigh,  where'er  we  roam, 

For  our  maternal,  peaceful  home. 


TUB    BUDDING   HOPES. 

The  budding  hopes  which  hourly  spring, 

While  Fancy's  bower  is  young  and  green, 
Too  often  perish  ere  they  fling 

Their  viewless  odours  round  the  scene  ; 
But,  oh !  there's  one,  which,  planted  here, 

The  heart's  red  current  flows  to  cherish, 
And  should  that  blossom  disappear, 

The  soil  it  springs  from  too  must  perish. 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastorrJ  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 


AMATORY.  41 


A  Polacca  —  Music  by  Davies.* 

When  infant  Cupid  ventured  first 

To  spread  his  purple  wing1, 
It  chanced  he  stopp'd,  to  slake  his  thirst, 

At  the  pierian  spring  ; 
When,  rising  from  the  crystal  stream, 

A  monster  caught  his  eye, 
Poor  Cupid  started  with  a  scream, 

But  strove  in  vain  to  fly. 

To  slay  the  little  winged  boy 

The  dcemon  vainly  strove, 
His  fangs  could  wound,  but  not  destroy, 

The  son  of  peerless  Jove. 
He  follows  still  —  (they  never  part) 

But  vainly  vents  his  ire  ; 
Tho'  jealous  tortures  wring  the  heart, 

Yet  ne'er  can  love  expire. 


There  is  a  magic  harp,  whose  dulcet  tones 

uEolus  only  has  the  skill  to  wake ; 
Which  breathes  at  night  its  sweetly-sighing  moans, 

If  no  rude  blast  the  soft  enchantment  break. 
He  comes,  with  fragrance  on  his  lucid  wings, 
And  fondly  stoops  to  kiss  the  silken  strings. 

*  As  sung  in  the  pastoral  Opera  of  the  Forest  Rose. 
4* 


42  MELODIES. 

MUSIC    THE   IiASTGUAGE    OF   LOVE. 

Jtfusic  arranged  by  E.  Riley. 

Yes,  Love  can  discourse  independent  of  eyes, 
The  pressure  of  hands,  or  the  breathing  of  sighs ; 
Attend,  then,  its  accents,  and  deign  to  approve, 
For  MUSIC,  dear  girl,  is  the  language  of  love. 

'Tis  true  that  the  eyes  and  the  lips  may  impart 
A  counterfeit  sentiment,  tutor'd  hy  art ; 
But  nought  can  the  pulses  of  sympathy  move 
Like  MUSIC,  for  that  is  the  language  of  love. 

The  tone  of  affection  is  framed  in  the  soul, 
'Tis  spirit,  unfettered  by  matter's  control ; 
For  what  is  the  language  of  seraphs  above, 
But  MUSIC  ? — and  there  'tis  the  language  of  love. 

Then  doubt,  dearest  maiden,  professions  and  sighs, 
The  glow  .of  the  hand,  the  expression  of  eyes; 
But  doubt  not  the  soul's  aspirations,  which  prove, 
That  MUSIC  is  still  the  true  language  of  love. 


My  gentle  Muse  on  Heliconia  strays, 
Or  gaily  sports  in  sweet  Pierian  bowers, 

And,  when  descending  to  inspire  my  lays, 
Her  airy  form  is  but  the  breath  of  flowers. 


AMATORV  43 

I   LOVE    ONLTT   THEE. 

Air — Believe  me-,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms. 

Believe  not  the  slanders  that  envy  may  frame, 

But  confess,  when  the  past  you  review, 
That  tho'  malice  may  couple  reproach  with  his  name, 

Dear  Mary,  thy  Edwin  is  true. 
I  will  own  that  my  heart  flutters  gaily,  awhile, 

For  every  fair  face  that  I  see ; 
But  tho'  ever  delighted  with  woman's  sweet  smile, 

1  love,  dearly  love,  only  thee. 

Repine  not  that  festival  joys  may  detain 

Thy  lover  awhile  from  thy  arms ; 
For  with  each  sparkling  goblet  he  ventures  to  dram, 

He  whispers  a  toast  to  thy  charms. 
I  will  own  that,  when  friendship  and  evening  invite, 

I  join  in  such  revels  with  glee ; 
But  thy  smile  can  alone  give  me  perfect  delight, 

For  I  love,  dearly  love,  only  thee. 


While  folly's  shrine  attracts  the  fair, 
Blame  not  the  heaux  who  worship  there ; 
If  gods  for  you  took  meaner  shapes, 
No  wonder  we  descend  to  apes  ; 
Let  beauty  smile  on  worth  alone, 
And  fops  and  fools  will  not  be  known. 


44  MELODIES. 

LOVE'S    EVES. 

Air— Roy's  Wife. 

Love's  eyes  are  so  enchanting, 
Bright,  smiling,  soft,  and  granting, 
Pulses  play 
At  every  ray, 

And  hearts  at  every  glance  are  panting. 
Before  the  beamy  eye  of  morn, 

We  view  the  shades  of  night  receding, 
So  tender  glances  banish  scorn, 
For  who  can  frown  while  love  is  pleading? 
Love's  eyes  are  so  enchanting,  &c. 

No  bandage  can  those  eyes  conceal, 
Tho'  bards  in  fabled  tales  rehearse  it ; 

For  if  he  wore  a  mask  of  steel, 

Affection's  ardent  gaze  would  pierce  it. 
Love's  eyes  are  so  enchanting,  &c. 

Beware,  then,  lest  some  artful  elf 

The  infant's  smiles  and  armour  borrow, 
To  win  a  throb  of  joy  for  self, 

And  give  his  victim  years  of  sorrow. 
Love's  eyes  are  so  enchanting, 
Bright,  smilir  ~,  soft,  and  granting, 
Pukes  p>.y 
At  eveiy  ray, 
And  hearts  e.t  eve~y  glence  are  pant'ng. 


AMATOHY.  45 


LOVE   AND 

Air  —  While  in  camp  my  soldier  lies. 

Sounds  of  war  were  swelling  wild, 

Fearful  notes  the  bugle  blew  ; 
Infant  Love,  a  timid  child, 

Trembled  at  the  rat-tat-too. 
But  inspired  by  Valour's  breath, 

Love  with  war  familiar  grew, 
Fearless  view'd  the  strife  of  death, 

Smiled  to  hear  the  rat-tat-too. 

Swift  a  shaft  at,  Valour's  heart 

From  the  infant's  bow-string  flew  ; 
Valour  heeded  not  the  dart, 

List'ning  to  the  rat-tat-too. 
Yet  that  dart  was  tipp'd  with  red, 

Ella's  heart-blood  lent  the  hue  ; 
But  in  vain  had  Ella  bled, 

Valour  loved  the  rat-tat-too 

Through  the  camp  the  infant  stray'd, 

Hope  receding  now  from  view  ; 
Secret  griefs  his  sighs  betray'd, 

Mingling  with  the  rat-tat-too. 
Valour  will  not  yield  to  Love, 

Hope  to  Ella  bids  adieu  ; 
Sad,  desponding,  widow'd  dove, 

Listless  to  the  rat-tat-too. 


46  MELODIES. 

ZiOVE'S   LEGEH. 

JLir~My  ain  kind  dearie. 

1  own  myself  your  debtor,  love, 

For  'tis  to  you  my  bliss  I  owe, 
Then  say  if  I'd  not  better,  love, 

Repay  the  balance  kiss  I  owe  ? 
In  justice  you'll  receipt  it,  love, 

And  prove  that  you  are  true  to  me  ; 
If  I  should  then  repeat  it,  love, 

There'll  be  a  balance  due  to  me. 

That  little  urchin  Cupid,  love, 

The  only  clerk  we  keep,  you  know, 
Is  either  blind  or  stupid,  love, 

And  apt  to  fall  asleep,  you  know. 
'Tis  best,  then,  thus  to  jog  him,  love, 

And  make  him  earn  his  pay,  you  know; 
For,  should  we  chide  or  flog  him,  love, 

The  boy  might  run  away,  you  know. 

The  rogue  possesses  talents,  love, 

His  pinions  furnish  quills,  you  know, 
And  when  he  strikes  a  balance,  love, 

He  must  inspect  our  bills,  you  know. 
Then  let  us  ne'er  dispute,  my  love, 

While  Time  enjoyment  rifles  so, 
But  take  a  kiss  to  boot,  my  love, 

I  cannot  stand  on  trifles  so. 


. 
AMATORY.  47 


Short  reck'nings  make  long  friends,  my  love, 

Accounts  should  ne'er  be  running  so, 
Then  let  us  make  amends,  my  love, 

For  'tis  unpleasant  dunning  so. 
Through  life's  allotted  term,  my  love, 

If  thus  we  don't  forget  we  owe, 
When  death  dissolves  the^rm,  my  love, 

We'll  pay  the  only  debt  we  owe. 


A   KISS. 

Music  by  Dames. 

Does  Eliza  remember,  ere  fashion  had  taught  her 
To  lend  the  heart's  impulse  hypocrisy's  guise, 

How  oft,  in  our  plays,  to  my  bosom  I  caught  her, 
And  wonder'd  a  touch  could  so  brighten  the  eyes  ? 

Familiar  to  me  is  the  sweet  recollection, 
I  well  can  remember  the  thrill  and  the  glow, 

The  flush  and  the  smile  that  illumed  her  complexion, 
Like  the  first  ray  of  morning  reflected  on  snow. 

And  I  ask'd  what  it  was  that  the  senses  thus  raptured, 
And  bade  through  my  pulses  such  ecstacies  roD, 

The  charm  which  reflection  bewildered  and  captured— 
A  KISS  was  the  answer — it  melted  my  soul. 


48  MELODIES. 

TO    SOMEBODY. 

Jtfusic  by  Davies. 

Oh  I  shall  ne'er  forget  the  spot 

Where  smiles  of  joy  were  wont  to  greet  me, 
Where  ardent  hearts  dissembled  not, 

But  bounded  with  delight  to  meet  me. 
Though  rugged  winter  held  his  sway, 

And  all  without  was  cold  and  dreary, 
Yet,  warmed  by  beauty's  melting  ray, 

I  thought  the  season  bright  and  cheery. 

But  doom'd,  alas!  too  soon  to  part, 

And  wander  far  from  love  and  beauty, 
I  felt  a  winter  in  my  heart, 

And  cheerless  seem'd  the  path  of  duty. 
I  dragg'd  along  the  heavy  way 

A  lengthen'd  chain  that  made  we  weary, 
While  Hope  refused  one  glimmering  ray 

To  light  a  scene  so  dark  and  dreary. 

But  see !  at  length  stern  winter  flies, 

A  brighter  season  glows  before  me, 
The  summer  radiance  of  those  eyes 

Shall  yet  to  life  and  joy  restore  me. 
Till  then,  let  retrospection  feed 

The  flame  which  smiling  hope  should  cherish, 
For,  oh !  how  this  poor  heart  would  bleed, 

Should  thine  permit  that  flame  to  perish. 


AMATORY. 


THE 


A  Scotch  Air. 

I  would  a  garland  twine,  my  love, 

But  nature's  flowers  decay, 
And  ah  !  that  brow  of  thine,  my  love, 

Deserves  a  fadeless  bay. 
But  song  shall  crown  thee,  listen! 

And  let  those  eyes  of  fire 
With  approbation  glisten, 

Thy  minstrel  to  inspire. 

'Tis  not  exterior  charms,  my  love, 

That  faultless  shape  and  face, 
Those  pearly  polished  arms,  my  love, 

That  air  of  witching  grace  — 
But  'tis  those  mental  treasures, 

Which  few,  alas  !  can  claim, 
By  which  the  poet  measures 

Thy  beauty,  wit,  and  fame. 

Time  dims  the  brightest  eye,  my  love, 

That  form  will  lose  its  grace, 
That  cheek  its  vermil  dye,  my  love, 

And  age  will  mark  the  face  ; 
But  virtue,  love,  and  duty, 

Retain  immortal  bloom, 
Survive  the  wreck  of  beauty, 

And  decorate  her  tomb. 
5 


50  MELODIES. 

TO   XCST   WIFE. 

JLir — London's  bonny  woods  and  braes. 

Nay,  my  all  of  joy  that's  left, 

Droop  not  thus  in  gloom,  Lydia; 
Though  each  flower  of  hope  be  cleft, 

Other  buds  will  bloom,  Lydia; 
Never  of  the  future  borrow — 
Though  another  storm  of  sorrow 
Rifle  every  leaf  to-morrow 

From  the  thorny  stem,  Lydia, 
Let  us  with  unshaken  mind, 
Yield  such  toys,  and  be  resign'd, 
And,  if  nought  but  thorns  we  find, 

Make  a  toy  of  them,  Lydia. 

Fortune  must  be  blind  indeed, 

We  mistake  her  powers,  Lydia, 
Else  could  love  unheeded  plead  ? 

Faithful  love,  like  ours,  Lydia? 
Let  us,  then,  her  gifts  disdaining, 
Without  murmur,  or  complaining, 
Or  the  will  of  Heaven  arraigning, 

Fix  our  hopes  above,  Lydia ; 
Though,  while  we  are  pilgrims  here, 
Poverty  may  press  severe, 
Yet  we  shall,  through  life,  my  dear, 

Still  be  rich  in  love,  Lydia. 


AMATORY.  51 

Droop  not,  dearest — God  is  kind 

When  he  seems  severe,  Lydia; 
Blessings  yet  remain  behind 

Which  we  hold  most  dear,  Lydia : 
Innocence,  the  soul's  best  treasure, 
Mutual  faith,  disdaining  measure, 
Love,  and  its  appendant  pleasure, 

What  can  these  destroy,  Lydia? 
These  are  ours — with  these  endued, 
Nought  should  check  our  gratitude 
To  the  source  of  every  good 

Mortals  can  enjoy,  Lydia. 


THE   CTOSEGAT. 

Here  the  rose  and  lily,  twining1, 
Her  enchanting  face  bespeak ; 

For  the  sweetest  hues,  combining, 
Decorate  her  lovely  cheek. 

In  this  blushing  pink  that  deck'd  her, 
Glows  an  emblem  of  her  lip, 

Both  distilling  purest  nectar, 
Both  inviting  mine  to  sip. 

In  this  violet  I  discover 
Her  sweet  eye's  cerulean  hue, 

Like  the  star  of  love,  above  her, 
Sparkling  in  etherial  blue. 


52  MELODIES. 

TELH   SIGH. 

A  French  Mr. 

Softly  stealing  from  her  breast 
Ere  its  lovely  keeper  knew, 
Forth  a  sigh  emerging  flew  : 

I  received  the  trembling  guest, 
Thrilling  in  my  raptur'd  ear, 

Sinking  on  my  heart  to  rest, 
With  ecstatic  throbbings  dear. 

Ah !  dear  Mary,  luckless  fair, 
You  perceived  its  flight  too  late : 

Guard  such  tell-tale  rogues  with  care ; 

For  the  tidings  which  they  bear 
Cast  the  colour  of  our  fate. 

Think  you  what  it  told  my  heart  ? 

'Twas  the  messenger  of  peace, 

Bidding  every  doubt  to  cease, 
Every  sorrow  to  depart ; 

'Twas  the  olive-bearing  dove 
Guiding  hope  into  the  ark ; 

'Twas  the  harbinger  of  love, 
Flitting  from  that  warm  recess 

Where  thy  thoughts  in  secret  dwell : 
What  thy  lips  would  ne'er  confess, 
Though  thy  suppliant  sure  to  bless, 

This  sweet  fugitive  will  tell. 


AMATORY. 

Hark !  it  whispers  to  my  heart — 

"  Hence  with  every  servile  fear ; 

Hope  alone  may  revel  here ; 
Doubt  and  cold  distrust,  depart. 

Her's  as  it  responsive  heaves, 
Shall  confess  the  urchin's  dart 

Rapture  with  the  anguish  leaves." 
Tell  me  not  I  dream  of  bliss, 

If  I  do,  still  let  me  sleep, 
Snatch  me  not  from  joy  like  this 
The  reality  to  miss ; — 

Never  wake  a  wretch  to  weep. 


I   SIGH   WOT   FOR   GLORY. 

I  sigh  not  for  glory  to  dazzle  the  crowd, 
I  ask  not  for  fortune  to  strut  with  the  proud, 
I  covet  no  title  of  any  degree, 
Except,  my  dear  Rosa,  a  title  to  thee. 
But  yet  if  the  fates  have  unkindly  ordain'd, 
That  these  must  be  mine  ere  thy  hand  is  obtain'd, 
Inspir'd  by  the  smiling  young  hopes  which  I  cherish, 
I'll  ask  them,  and  win  them,  dear  Rosa,  or  perish. 


Yes,  love  has  its  sorrows,  but  who  would  refuse  'em, 

So  mingled  with  rapture  and  joy? 
What  mortal  the  rose  would  discard  frorp  his  bosom» 

For  fear  that  its  thorns  might  annoy? 

5* 


54  MELODIES. 

THE  REPULSE. 

Air — Maggie  Lander. 

When  first  I  sought  my  Lydia's  love, 

I  talk'd  of  flames  and  rapture ; 
And  with  unceasing  ardour  strove 

Her  gentle  heart  to  capture. 
"I'll  quit  the  world  if  I'm  denied," 

I  said  without  reflection ; 
"  If  you  think  best,"  the  fair  replied, 

"  I've  not  the  least  objection." 

"  Hard-hearted  girl !  for  your  embrace, 

"  To  dastard  fear  a  stranger, 
"  Arabia's  desert  sands  I'll  trace, 

"  And  laugh  at  every  danger ; 
"  Or  scale  the  Andes'  steepest  side, 

"  To  merit  your  affection!" 
"As  you  think  best,"  she  still  replied, 

"I've  not  the  least  objection." 

"  Can  nothing  move  you? — is  he  doom'd 

"  To  years  of  gloom  and  sorrow, 
"  Who  fondly  thought  you  would  have  bloom'd 

"His  lovely  bride  to-morrow? 
"My  family,  with  joy  and  pride, 

"Expect  the  blest  connexion." 
"As  you  think  best,"  she  smiling  cried, 

"  I've  not  the  least  objection." 


AMATORY.  58 

GIVING-    AND    RECEIVING. 

Music  by  Swindells. 

The  suppliant  departed,  while  gratitude's  tear 
In  his  joy-beaming  eye  was  suspended; 

My  heart  bounded  light,  for  my  Lydia  was  near, 
Who  thus  the  donation  commended : 

"  The  bosom  which  softens  at  Misery's  wound, 

And  proffers  the  balsam  to  heal  him, 
With  the  glow  of  contentment  must  joyfully  bound, 

And  such  is  the  breast  of  my  Selim." 

"  But  which,"  I  exclaim'd,  as  the  fair  one  I  press'd, 
While  her  eye  with  affection  was  brighten'd, 

"Receiver,  or  donor,  which  think  you  most  blest? 
Whose  joy   by  the  action  most  heightened  ?" 

"  The  being,  she  answer'd,  you  saved  from  despair, 

Who  tastes,  by  the  sudden  reversion, 
Of  exquisite  bliss  a  proportionate  share, 

To  the  depth  of  his  recent  immersion." 

Her  answer  was  sweeten'd  with  love's  nectar'd  kiss, 
And  my  breast  with  the  transport  was  heaving, 

As  I  own'd,  with  a  sigh,  that  tho'  giving  was  bliss, 
It  was  faint  to  the  joy  of  receiving. 


5«  MELODIES. 

TO    B1ARIA, 

Awake  again  thy  witching  lyre, 
Its  tones  have  slept  too  long ; 
But  thy  sweet  touches,  dear  Maria, 
Can  call  a  spirit  from  the  wire, 
With  eyes  of  light  and  lips  of  fire — 
O  wake  him  into  song. 

Why  should  the  sweetest  gift  of  Jove 

In  useless  silence  lie, 

When  thou  canst  make  it  speak  and  move, 
To  charm  our  grief,  inspire  our  love, 
And  raise  our  thoughts  to  things  above, 

Why,  sweet  Maria — why  ? 

Why  brood  o'er  past  affliction's  smart, 

With  sad  and  tearful  eye, 
When  thine  is  the  bewitching  art, 
The  sweetest  rapture  to  impart, 
And  kindle  joy  in  every  heart, 
Why,  loved  Maria — why  ? 


Tho'  parting  was  painful,  the  wound  it  inflicted 
Will  soon  be  forgot  in  the  glow  of  a  kiss ; 

Tho'  grief  on  the  visage  has  oft  been  depicted, 
The  tear  shall  soon  glisten  a  tribute  of  bliss. 


AMATORY.  57 

AND    DTD    Z    UPBRAID   TO17? 

•* 

Air — And  has  she  then  fair d  in  her  truth? 

And  did  I  upbraid  you,  my  love  ? 

0  pardon  a  fault  I  deplore ; 

For  while  you  thus  sweetly  reprove, 

1  feel  I  can  never  doubt  more. 

No— no — no — I  shall  never  doubt  you  more. 

I  own  I  suspected  your  truth, 

And  envied  a  rival's  success ; 
For  jealousy  pictured  a  youth 

Whom  pity  would  prompt  you  to  bless. 
Whom  pity — pity — pity  would  prompt  you  to  bless. 

And  did  I  upbraid  you,  my  love ? 

0  pardon  a  fault  I  deplore ; 

For  while  you  thus  sweetly  reprove, 

1  feel  I  can  never  doubt  more. 

No — no — no — I  shall  never  doubt  you  more. 

My  doubts  I  now  give  to  the  wind, 

For  Mary  is  constant  and  fair, 
Though  lately  I  thought  her  unkind, 

And  gave  myself  up  to  despair. 
Despair — despair — despair — and  gave  myself  up,  &c. 

And  did  I  upbraid  you,  my  love  ? 
O  pardon  a  fault  I  deplore,  &c 


58  MELODIES. 

AND    THE    PASSIONS. 


The  stranger  awoke,  and  with  wonder  survey'd 
The  unexplor'd  regions  on  which  she  was  thrown: 

Rude  Chaos  the  scene  —  and  the  infantile  maid 
Was  Nature,  just  risen  from  sources  unknown. 

Her  form,  the  fair  abstract  of  Infinite  thought, 
The  unblemish'd  model  of  harmony  moved; 

Her  accents  the  spirit  of  melody  taught, 

Her  smile  was  celestial  —  and  Heaven  approved. 

JBut  scarce  could  the  infant  existence  admire, 

When  hosts  of  rude  demons  encounter'd  the  child, 

Revenge  and  rough  Anger,  with  optics  of  fire, 
And  frenzy-struck  Terror,  shriek'd  horribly  wild. 

Attended  by  Rapine,  fell  Murder  appear'd, 
Led  onward  by  Avarice,  Malice,  and  Hate; 

Their  snaky  crests  Envy  and  Jealousy  rear'd, 
As  blood-stain'd  Ambition  tore  laurels  from  fate. 

This  phalanx  of  fiends,  with  Despair  in  their  >ain, 
With  scourges  of  scorpions  the  infant  assail'd, 

And  pitiless  heard  the  sweet  stranger  complain, 
Deep  deluged  in  sorrow  which  nothing  avail'd. 

Compassion  beheld  —  and  to  regions  above, 
In  the  incense  of  sighs,  her  petition  convey'd^; 

Infinity  heard,  and  the  answer  was  —  LOVE, 
Who  came  in  the  garb  of  an  angel  array'd. 


AMATORY.  59 

Her  presence  made  cruel  Ambition  depart, 

Hate,  Murder,  and  Rapine,  the  goddess  confessed ; 

Her  touch  palsied  Malice,  and  blunted  his  dart, 
And  even  lank  Avarice  opened  his  breast. 

She  spoke — and  Revenge  was  subdued  by  the  charm ; 

She  smil'd — and  the  scene  was  deserted  by  Fear ; 
She  sigh'd — and  pale  Jealousy  fled  with  alarm ; 

She  wept — and  rough  Anger  dissolved  in  the  tear. 

Her  magic  the  vulture  transform'd  to  a  dove, 
And  Nature  again  was  delighted  and  blest — 

Thus  each  ruder  passion  is  subject  to  Love, 
The  genius  that  tempers  and  governs  the  rest. 


X   HAD    A. 

Air — Ye  banks  and  braes  of  bonnie  Doon. 

I  had  a  lyre  when  hope  was  young, 
But  'twas  the  plaything  of  a  child ; 

Of  LOVE  I  then  delighted  sung, 

And  swept  its  chords  with  transport  wild. 

But  now  its  tones  I  cannot  swell, 
Its  spirit  and  its  voice  have  fled, 

That  lyre  is  but  a  tuneless  shell, 

For  I  have  sold  its  chords  for  BREAD. 


60  MELODIES. 

THE    REEZSTIXTG, 

I  saw  them  meet— the  pangs  of  absence  o'er, 
And  MEMORY  holds  a  picture  of  the  place : 

'Twas  at  the  threshold  of  her  cottage  door, 
ELIZA  met  her  husband's  warm  embrace. 

How  animated  shone  her  eager  eye, 

Where  joy's  delicious  tear  suspended  hung ! 

Her  bosom  heaved— but  pleasure  rais'd  the  sigh ; 

Her  voice  was  mute — but  bliss  had  seal'd  her  tongue. 

Press'd  in  his  arms,  the  chaste  connubial  kiss 
Her  ruby  lips  by  turns  received  and  gave ; 

Then,  as  ashamed  of  the  excessive  bliss, 
Affection's  blush  she  bids  his  bosom  save. 

But  recollection  whisper' d  yet  a  joy 

'Twas  hers  to  give ;  and  from  the  trance  she  starts, 
Puts  in  his  arms  their  little  infant  boy, 

Love's  precious  pledge,  that  closer  binds  their  hearts. 

While  round  their  sire  the  elder  prattlers  cling ; 

Beg  for  a  kiss ;  their  little  tales  recite ; 
Each  emulous  some  trifling  boon  to  bring, 

And  share  their  parents'  unalloy'd  delight. 

Forgotten  now  is  separation's  smart, 

Or  but  remember'd  as  the  zest  of  joy ; 
Her  smiles  are  sunshine  to  his  gladden'd  heart, 

Which  love-created  fears  no  more  annoy. 


AMATORY.  61 

So,  wrapp'd  in  night,  the  lonely  pilgrim  views 
AURORA,  blushing,  throw  her  veil  aside ; 

And,  fill'd  with  joy,  his  lighted  path  pursues, 
Whence  erst  bewildered  he  had  wander'd  wide. 

And  is  it  joy  that  fills  my  eye  ?  I  cried — 
Ah,  no ! — regret,  that  such  was  not  my  lot; 

But  yet  to  envy  'twas  so  near  allied, 
I  blush'd — and  sighing,  left  the  happy  spot. 


A    DRSA3VI. 
A  Polish  Air. 

O  stay,  sweet  vision !  lovely  phantom,  stay ! 

And  longer  bless  me  with  thy  mimic  show ; 
Ah !  fade  not  thus  to  empty  air  away, 

And  leave  a  wretch  awake  to  real  wo. 

And  did  I  dream  ?  Oh !  'twas  a  dream  so  sweet, 
So  full  of  bliss,  that  heaven  had  lost  its  charms; 

And  I  embraced  the  dear  delusive  cheat, 
Then  woke,  and  found  despair  within  my  arms. 

Joy's  sparkling  goblet  seems  to  overflow, 
Her  banquet  now  with  tempting  sweets  appears; 

But,  ah !  I  wake  to  quaff  the  cup  of  wo, 
Drink  deep  of  grief,  and  feast  upon  my  tears. 
6 


6$  MELODIES. 

THE    SMILE    OF    LOVE. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

YES,  there's  a  light  whose  effulgence  can  brighten 

Grief's  gloomy  aspect  with  sparkles  of  joy, 
Chase  from  the  heart  which  its  splendours  enlighten 

Each  sombre  care  that  presumes  to  annoy. 
Pure  are  its  rays,  as  the  dawn's  first  reflection, 

Grateful  as  sunbeams  when  tempests  are  o'er, 
O  'tis  the  smile  of  an  artless  affection, 

Beaming  from  eyes  and  a  heart  we  adore. 
Dark  fate  may  vainly  lower, 
O'er  hope's  enamelled  bower, 
The  smile  of  affection  each  cloud  will  remove, 
That  warm  celestial  ray  melts  cloudy  care  away, 
Earth  has  no  charm  like  the  sweet  smile  of  love. 

While  thro'  this  life's  dusky  vale  we  are  straying, 

Press'd  by  misfortune,  and  harass'd  by  fears, 
Sighing  o'er  pictures  of  fancy,  decaying — 

Sprinkling  our  path-way  with  unheeded  tears, 
Be  but  the  lustre  of  Love's  radiations 

Shed  o'er  the  scene,  and  its  terrors  will  cease, 
Sighs  will  be  changed  into  joy's  aspirations, 
Tears  be  converted  to  dew-drops  of  peace. 
Bright  beam  of  heavenly  bliss  ! 
Earth  has  no  charm  like  this, 
'Tis  the  reflection  of  light  from  above ; 
When  first  we  feel  the  ray,  how  sweet  the  pulses  play  I 
Earth  has  no  charm  like  the  sweet  smile  of  love. 


AMATORY.  63 

TO    MISS    M,    H. 

Air — As  pensive  I  thought  on  my  love. 

I  heard  a  sweet  strain  in  the  grove, 

And  listen'd  with  breathless  delight : 
"  As  pensive  I  thought  on  my  love, 

"  The  moon  on  the  mountain  shone  bright." 
When  torn  from  the  arms  of  her  swain, 

In  circles  of  splendour  to  move, 
Sweet  FATIMA  thus  would  complain, 

As  pensive  she  thought  on  her  love. 

A  palace  for  her  had  no  charms, 

Unshared  by  the  youth  she  adored ; 
But  press'd  in  her  loved  SELIM'S  arms, 

A  cottage  true  bliss  could  afford. 
Then  should  fickle  Fortune  ordain, 

Your  SELIM  from  hence  to  remove, 
Will  you,  while  you  warble  that  strain, 

Bestow  a  fond  thought  on  your  love  ? 

Some  seraph  will  waft  me  the  sound, 

And  whisper  the  joy  to  my  heart ; 
Though  absence  must  cruelly  wound, 

I'll  listen,  forgetting  its  smart. 
Then  grant  that  such  joy  I  may  find, 

Should  fate  ever  tear  me  from  thee ; 
For  me  let  the  strain  be  design' d — 

Be  FATIMA  only  to  me. 


64  MELODIES. 

HARRIET'S   FAVORITE    POEMS. 

When  I  survey  my  Harriet's  speaking  face, 

The  smiles  that  light,  the  tears  that  fill  her  eyes, 

The  frown  of  anger,  or  the  rose's  grace, 
I  view  the  Seasons  m  succession  rise. 

When  a  glance  of  affection  her  optics  impart, 

The  Pleasures  of  Hope  are  alive  in  my  heart. 

Lost  in  the  theme,  while  bending  o'er  her  lyre, 
She  wakes  the  tones  which  fascinate  the  soul, 

I  view  the  Minstrel  that  I  most  admire, 
And  list  in  rapture  while  her  numbers  roll. 

When,  absent,  I  yield  to  reflection's  sweet  power, 

The  Pleasures  of  Memory  shorten  the  hour. 

If  she,  with  fondness,  chide  my  ardent  kiss, 
And,  with  a  soft'ning  smile,  forbearance  ask, 

Or  bid  me,  with  a  frown,  forego  the  bliss, 
I  bow  submission,  but  neglect  the  Task. 

For  should  she  condemn  me  the  bliss  to  forego, 

In  the  Grave  would  I  seek  for  an  end  of  my  wo. 

When  Fancy  through  her  own  creation  strays, 
To  promised  joy  delighting  still  to  cling, 

From  her  alone,  my  glowing  bosom  says, 
The  Pleasures  of  Imagination  spring. 

But  when  Curiosity  rises  to  vex, 

Then  Paradise  Lost  I  impute  to  the  sex. 


AMATORY.  65 

I  told  her  thus — when,  in  her  snowy  arms, 
My  yielding  form  the  angel  gently  strain'd, 

And  I,  bewilder'd  with  a  maze  of  charms, 
Sigh'd  in  her  ear — 'tis  Paradise  Rcgairid  ! 

Retired  from  elysium,  the  scene  to  retrace, 

My  Night  Thoughts  re-pictured  the  tender  embrace. 


TO    ISABELLA. 

Air— The  Braes  o'  Glenifer. 

The  world  is  no  longer  the  desert  I  deem'd  it, 

While  clouds  of  affliction  had  veil'd  it  in  gloom, 
For  the  promise  of  Hope — though  I  lightly  esteem'd  it, 

For  once  has  been  faithful,  and  dress'd  it  in  bloom. 
The  eye  of  pure  friendship  is  lighted  to  bless  me, 

And  Love — O  the  truest  of  hearts  is  my  own ; 
E'en  Fame  grows  propitious,  and  deigns  to  caress  me, 

All  smile  on  the  minstrel,  but  Fortune  alone. 

Pure  friendship — it  beams  from  the  eye  of  Mabella, 

The  angel  of  mercy,  and  daughter  of  song ; 
It  lights  up  a  zenith  so  brilliantly  stellar, 

I  spurn  the  dull  planet  to  which  I  belong. 
But,  ah !  should  a  cloud  rise  again  to  obscure  it, 

Exhaled  in  the  malice  of  Calumny's  breath, 
The  sensitive  pulse  of  my  heart  would  endure  it 

A  moment — and  then  find  a  refuge  in  death. 
6* 


66  MELODIES. 

THE   VOYAGE    OF  LIFE, 

Mr—Tweed  Side. 

Embark'd  on  the  ocean  of  life, 

I  steer' d  for  the  haven  of  bliss ; 
But  thro'  passion's  tempestuous  strife, 

My  reck'ning  was  ever  A-MISS. 
Near  Pleasure's  enchanted  domain 

I  plunged  in  a  whirlpool  of  care, 
Encounter' d  the  breakers  of  pain, 

And  struck  on  the  rocks  of  despair. 

Afloat  and  refitted  once  more, 

The  chart  of  experience  my  guide, 
Hope  points  to  the  far-distant  shore, 

Her  smile  bids  the  tempest  subside. 
No  breakers  or  quicksands  I  fear, 

While  honour  stands  firm  at  the  helm ; 
By  the  compass  of  reason  I'll  steer 

To  Joy's  delectable  realm. 

Stern  Virtue  the  port  may  blockade, 

Yet  Hymen  will  sanction  my  right, 
And  his  torch,  like  a  pharos,  shall  aid 

To  moor  in  the  stream  of  delight. 
Then,  then,  may  the  genius  of  love, 

An  eternal  embargo  declare, 
I'll  never  evade  it,  by  Jove ! 

Nor  traffic  in  contraband  ware. 


AMATORY.  C7 

THE    GAMUT. 

Air — Of  a?  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw. 

The  demon  care  constraint  to  smile, 

When  matchless  Ida  sings, 
Repents  that  he  my  lyre  should  spoil, 

And  gives  me  back  its  strings ; 
So  Orpheus'  lay,  (as  poets  dream' d) 

With  like  resistless  spell, 
Subdu'd  the  Fates,  and  thus  redeem'd 

Eurydice  from  hell. 

Once  more  I'll  tune  this  shell  so  dear, 

And  stretch  its  wires  again, 
Till  A  awake  with  accents  clear, 

And  breathing  B  complain. 
The  C  shall  sound  serene  and  free, 

The  D  with  danger  toy, 
While  fiery  wild  erratic  E, 

Shall  light  the  torch  of  joy. 

The  F  give  love  and  feeling  scope, 

But  G  with  grief  shall  wail, 
For  H,  the  aspirate  of  hope, 

Comes  not  within  the  scale. 
'Tis  done ! — my  lyre  shall  wake  again, 

While  lovely  Ida  sings, 
For  'twas  her  sweet  resistless  strain 

Redeem'd  the  minstrel's  strings. 


68  MELODIES. 

TO    ESAHIIIET. 

Air — Kate  of  Aberdeen. 

I  own  I  chid  the  plaintive  strain, 

Nor  wish'd  the  muse  to  weep; 
But  I  recall  a  thought  so  vain, 

If  Harriet's  lyre  must  sleep. 
What  though  its  tones  are  sorrow's  sighs, 

Tis  bliss  those  tones  to  hear ; 
And  should  thgy  drown  the  listener's  eyes, 

They  still  would  charm  his  ear. 

Then,  Harriet,  tune  thy  "  simple  lyre," 

And  sing  of  blessings  fled, 
While  such  extatic  joys  its  wire 

On  other  hearts  can  shed. 
Yes,  still  with  sorrow's  lay  alarm, 

Be  Penserosa  still, 
For  if  thy  tones  of  grief  thus  charm, 

Thy  notes  of  joy  would  kill. 


TO    3VE. 

And  may  I  hope  ?  thou  kind  one,  oh ! 

Can  joy  so  great  be  mine? 
I'd  pass  a  thousand  years  of  wo, 
Nor  think  the  minutes  travel?  d  slow, 

Might  I,  at  last,  be  thine. 


AMATORY.  C9 

And  may  I  hope  ? — What  rapture  waits 

On  that  auspicious  word ! 
Now  do  your  worst,  ye  envious  fates, 
The  sentence  which  my  soul  elates, 

Attesting  angels  heard. 

And  may  I  hope  ? — Then  I  am  blest, 

That  word  expels  despair, 
Removes  each  sorrow  from  my  breast, 
With  every  doubt  that  dare  molest, 

And  plants  an  Eden  there. 

And  may  I  hope  ? — Then  fancy  may 

Foretaste  the  nuptial  kiss, 
In  promised  rapture  revel  gay, 
An  antepast  of  that  sweet  day, 

Which  consummates  my  bliss 


TO    ZORA1TD.A. 

Ah,  why,  sweet  minstrel !  why  wish  me  to  soar 
Beyond  the  limits  of  my  humble  sphere  ? 

Why  bid  me  ape  the  thunder's  awful  roar, 
And  swell  the  train  in  madd'ning  war's  career  ? 

Forbear,  dear  girl !  to  urge  the  strange  request, 
I  cannot  rouse  my  milky  heart  to  rage  ; 

Then  let  me  lull  the  timorous  bird  to  rest, 
Or  feel  it  dance  with  pleasure  in  its  cage. 


70  MELODIES. 

TO    CAROLINE. 

Tho'  thousand  gems,  of  dazzling  ray, 
Will  glow  and  sparkle  through  the  day, 
The  diamond  only  has  the  power 
To  shine  in  midnight's  darkest  hour. 
So  hearts  that  bask  in  beauty's  smile, 
With  borrowed  ray  may  glow  awhile, 
But  mine,  dear  girl,  is  warm  and  bright, 
Tho'  absence  shroud  the  gem  in  night. 

Yes,  absence  is  affection's  test, 
I  feel  the  truth  within  my  breast, 
For  every  hour  and  every  mile, 
That  bars  me  from  thy  cheering  smile, 
Imparts  new  ardour  to  the  flame, 
That  warms  and  animates  my  frame  • 
But  ere  it  too  intensely  burn, 
In  pity,  love,  return ! — return. 


WE    ARE    ONE. 

Air — From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go. 

Oh,  we  are  one,  and  who  presumes 

To  sever  hearts  like  ours, 
Would  scatter  frosts  where  Eden  blooms, 

And  wither  all  its  flowers ; 


AMATORY.  71 

But  should  no  bands  unite  our  hands, 

Till  weary  life  be  done, 
The  ties  which  join  this  heart  to  thine, 

Will  ever  make  us  one. 

Yes,  pride  and  rank  may  sever  hands, 

But  cannot  change  the  heart, 
Nor  polar  snows,  nor  Afric's  sands, 

Congenial  spirits  part. 
Our  souls  shall  meet,  in  union  sweet, 

Tho'  seas  between  us  run, 
Till  pride  relents,  and  fate  consents. 

To  make  us  truly  one. 


RETURNING    HOME. 

No  longer  shall  fortune  be  whelm' d  with  invective, 
If  my  journey  the  goddess  but  bless  with  her  smile; 

I  heed  not  its  length,  while  I  view  in  perspective 
The  sharer,  rewarder,  and  end  of  my  toil. 

Ah!  still  on  my  vision  the  object  increases ! 

The  cottage  of  peace  and  effection  I  spy! 
Hope  smiles,  as  my  bosom,  unconscious,  releases 

The  murmur  of  wishes  respired  in  a  sigh. 

Now,  now  I  am  blest ! — But,  ah !  language  it  fails  me, 
No  pencil  can  paint  love's  ecstatic  alarms  : 

'Tis  she  that  approaches — 'tis  Catharine  hails  me, 
She  gazes !  she  smiles ! — I  am  press'd  in  her  arms. 


TME   lll'!Al;T  , 


MELODIES. 


III..SENTIIVIBNTAL   AND    CONVIVIAL. 


BANKRUPTCY  OF  THE  HEART. 

Air — Erin  go  Bragh. 

Let  infamy  cover  the  dastard,  that  meanly 

Can  sport  with  the  peace  of  an  innocent  maid, 
For  there  is  no  pang  which  the  heart  feels  so  keenly 

As  finding  its  confidence  basely  hetray'd. 
No  power  can  retrieve  such  a  wide  desolation, 
As  spreads  o'er  the  face  of  the  mental  creation, 
When  once  a  sincere  trusting  heart's  adoration 
Has  been  with  a  cold-blooded  treason  repaid. 

For  woman,  dear  woman,  ne'er  traffics  by  measure, 

But  risks  her  whole  heart,  without  counting  the  cost; 
And  if  the  dear  youth  whom  she  trusts  with  the  treasure 

Be  shipwreck'd,  or  faithless,  her  capital's  lost. 
For  all  she  was  worth,  was  her  stock  of  affection, 
And  bankruptcy  follows,  with  sad  retrospection, 
And  nothing  can  ever  remove  the  dejection 
That  preys  on  a  bosom  whose  prospects  are  cross'd. 


74  MELODIES. 

If 
A   NUPTIAL  SONG. 

Air— The  Banks  of  the  Devon. 

O  blest  is  the  festival  hallow'd  by  duty, 

The  banquet  which  Hymen  and  Cupid  supply, 
The  goblet  which  borrows  new  lustre  from  beauty, 

Its  tint  from  her  lip,  and  its  light  from  her  eye. 
Then  join  in  our  revels,  partake  of  our  pleasures, 

For  Hymen  and  Love  here  in  union  preside, 
While  music  awakens  her  light-footed  measures, 

To  welcome  the  guests,  and  to  honour  the  bride. 

While  a  spot  in  the  desert  of  life  is  thus  blooming, 

And  soft  sighs  of  rapture  are  fanning  its  bowers, 
While  the  sunbeams  of  mirth  are  its  vistas  illuming', 

And  bright  tears  of  ecstacy  water  the  flowers— 
O  join  in  our  revels,  partake  of  our  pleasures, 

For  Hymen  and  Love  here  in  union  preside, 
While  music  awakens  her  light-footed  measures, 

To  welcome  the  guests,  and  to  honour  the  bride. 

Long  life  to  their  pleasures,  till  raptures  supernal, 

Immortal  as  truth,  in  their  bosoms  shall  rise, 
For  the  bliss  of  true  conjugal  love  is  eternal, 

It  blossoms  on  earth  but  to  bloom  in  the  skies. 
Then  join  in  our  revels,  partake  of  our  pleasures, 

For  Hymen  and  Love  here  in  union  preside, 
While  music  awakens  her  light-footed  measures, 

To  welcome  the  guests,  and  to  honour  the  bride. 


SENTIMENTAL.  75 

.',t 
THE  WIDOWED  IVY. 

Jllusic  by  Swindells. 

I  mark'd  of  late,  in  verdant  pride, 

The  ivy,  fondly  clinging 
To  the  tall  oak's  majestic  side, 
On  whose  green  branches,  spreading  wide, 

A  woodland  choir  was  singing. 
But  soon  was  hush'd  the  sylvan  lay, 

The  lightning's  bolt  invaded : 
The  oak  was  shiver'd  in  the  fray, 
The  widow1  d  ivy  lost  its  stay, 

And  all  its  verdure  faded. 

'Tis  thus  the  fond  confiding  heart 

On  manly  faith  reposes, 
While  the  sweet  smiles  of  Hope  impart 
Such  hues  to  life's  prospective  chart 

As  deck  the  scene  in  roses. 
But,  ah !  such  sweets  too  soon  decay, 

By  sorrow's  storm  invaded ; 
If  faithless  man  our  hopes  betray, 
The  widow' d  heart  will  lose  its  stay, 

And  all  its  joys  be  faded. 

Eve  shuts  her  windows — let  me  now  advance 
To  where  the  viol  leads  the  mazy  dance ; 
Where  pleasure  warms  the  heart  and  lights  the  eye* 
While  bounding  pulses  to  the  music  fly. 


6  MELODIES. 

CHRISTMAS    GAMBOLS. 

Air — Songs  of  shepherds,  in  rustical  roundelays. 

Hail !   the  season  of  joy  and  festivity, 

Social  pleasures  and  innocent  mirth, 
Consecrated  by  Mercy's  Nativity, 

Bliss  angelical  granted  to  earth: 
Tempests  of  winter  the  forests  may  splinter, 

But  never  can  stint  or  embitter  our  cheer, 
While  love's  soft  wishes  still  sweeten  our  dishes 

On  merry  Christmas  and  happy  New  Year. 

Hark !  the  merry  bells,  chiming  from  Trinity, 

Charm  the  ear  with  their  musical  din, 
Telling  all,  throughout  the  vicinity, 

Holiday  gambols  are  now  to  begin : 
Friends  and  relations,  with  fond  salutations, 

And  warm  gratulations,  together  appear ; 
While  lovers  and  misses,  with  holiday  kisses, 

Greet  merry  Christmas  and  happy  New  Year. 

Gratitude,  united  with  piety, 

Bids  each  bosom  with  rapture  to  glow, 
Pleasures,  temper'd  with  cheerful  sobriety, 

"  Light  up  smiles  in  the  aspect  of  wo :" 
Sires  and  mothers,  meet  sisters  and  brothers, 

And  mingle  with  others,  in  festival  cheer  ; 
And  friends,  long  parted,  assemble,  light-hearted, 

On  merry  Christmas  and  happy  New  Year. 


SENTIMENTAL.  77 

Now  commences  the  infantile  revelry, 

Happy  urchins  the  story  believe, 
That  Santaclaus,  since  ages  of  chivalry, 

Visits  the  nursery  on  holiday  eve. 
Socks,  intended  for  gifts,  are  suspended, 

And  mystic  rites  blended,  the  fancy  to  cheer, 
While  sweet  snap-dragon,  exhausts  the  full  flagon, 

Each  merry  Christmas  and  happy  New  Year. 

Then  hail !  the  season  of  joy  and  festivity, 

Social  pleasures,  and  innocent  mirth, 
Which  smooths  the  path  of  age's  declivity, 

And  gives  to  infancy  Eden  on  earth ; 
When  Plenty,  her  treasure  bestows  without  measure, 

And  innocent  Pleasure  pursues  her  career ; 
While  Love's  soft  wishes  still  sweeten  our  dishes, 

On  merry  Christmas  and  happy  New  Year. 


SPRING  AND   AUTUMN 

How  pleasing,  how  lovely  appears 
Sweet  infancy,  sportive  and  gay ; 

Its  prattle,  its  smiles,  and  its  tears, 
Like  spring,  or  the  dawning  of  day ! 

But  manhood's  the  season  design'd 
For  wisdom,  for  works,  and  for  use ; 

To  ripen  the  fruits  of  the  mind, 
Which  the  seeds  sown  in  childhood  produce. 


T8  MELODIES. 

LAND'S  END. 

*     Air — The  Light-house. 

The  gale  was  propitious,  all  canvass  was  sprea'd, 

As  swift  thro'  the  water  we  glided, 
The  tear-drop  yet  glisten' d  which  friendship  had  shed, 

Tho'  the  pang  whence  it  sprang  had  subsided. 
Fast  faded  in  distance  each  object  we  knew, 

As  the  shores  which  we  loved  were  retiring, 
And  the  last  grateful  object  which  linger'd  in  view, 

Was  the  beacon  on  land's  end  aspiring. 

Ah !  here,  I  exclaim'd,  is  an  emblem  of  life, 

For  'tis  but  a  turbulent  ocean, 
Where  passion  with  reason  is  ever  at  strife, 

While  our  frail  little  barks  are  in  motion. 
The  haven  of  infancy,  calm  and  serene, 

We  leave  in  the  distance  retiring, 
While  memory  lingers,  to  gaze  on  some  scene, 

Like  the  beacon  on  land's  end  aspiring. 

O  may  I  be  careful  to  steer  by  that  chart 

Which  Wisdom  in  mercy  has  given, 
And  true,  like  the  needle,  this  tremulous  heart 

Be  constantly  pointing  to  heaven ; 
Thus  safely  with  tempests  and  billows  I'll  cope, 

And  find  (when  at  last  they're  subsiding) 
On  the  land's  end  of  life  is  a  beacon  of  hope, 

To  the  harbour  of  happiness  guiding. 


SENTIMENTAL. 

THE  TEAR   OF   GRATITUDE. 

Air— The  Soldier's  Gratitude'. 

There  is  a  gem  more  pearly  bright, 

More  dear  to  Mercy's  eye, 
That  love's  sweet  star,  whose  mellow  light 

First  cheers  the  evening  sky ; 
A  liquid  pearl,  that  glitters  where 

No  sorrows  now  intrude, 
A  richer  gem  than  monarchs  wear, 

The  tear  of  gratitude. 

But  ne'er  shall  narrow  love  of  self, 

Invite  this  tribute  forth, 
Nor  can  the  sordid  slave  of  pelf 

Appreciate  its  worth ; 
But  ye  who  sooth  the  widow's  wo, 

And  give  the  orphan  food, 
For  you  this  liquid  pearl  shall  flow, 

The  tear  of  gratitude. 

Ye,  who  but  slake  an  infant's  thirst, 

In  Heavenly  Mercy's  name, 
Or  proffer  penury  a  crust, 

The  sweet  reward  can  claim. 
Then  as  ye  rove  life's  sunny  banks, 

With  sweetest  flowerets  strew 'd, 
Still  may  you  claim  the  widow's 'thanks, 

The  orphan's  gratitude. 


_ 
$0  MELODIES. 

vVHEN  EYES  ARE  BRIGHT. 
A  Sicilian  Air. 

When  eyes  are  bright  with  pleasure, 
And  brows  with  wreaths  are  crown'd, 

To  music's  sweetest  measure 
The  heart  shall  gaily  bound. 

While  pallid  care  forgets  to  call, 
And  smiling  beauty  lights  the  hall, 
Devote  to  bliss  the  present  hour, 
Perhaps  the  next  may  darkly  lower. 
When  eyes  are  bright  with  pleasure, 

And  brows  with  wreaths  are  crown'd, 
To  music's  sweetest  measure 

The  heart  shall  gaily  bound. 

This  life  were  but  a  dreary  scene, 
Without  such  little  spots  of  green ; 
But  every  joy  like  this  to  taste, 
Imparts  new  strength  to  tread  the  waste. 
When  eyes  are  bright  with  pleasure, 

And  brows  with  wreaths  are  crown'd, 
To  music's  sweetest  measure 

The  heart  shall  gaily  bound. 

Such  pleasures  leave  no  sting  behind, 
But  sweetly  elevate  the  mind, 
'Till  ever?  heart,  with  generous  glow, 
Is  blest  tr  see  its  neighbour  so.    .-.*•.  - 


SENTIMENTAL.  81 

When  eyes  are  bright  with  pleasure, 
And  brows  with  wreaths  are  crown'd, 

To  music's  sweetest  measure 
The  heart  shall  gaily  bound. 


NOW  AMITY,  HOPE,    AND    PLEASURE. 
An  Italian  Air. 

Now  amity,  hope,  and  pleasure, 
Smile  placidly,  kiss,  and  toy, 

While  trippingly  dance  in  measure, 
Love,  liberty,  peace,  and  joy. 

Night's  ebony  car  descending, 

Rolls  rapidly  down  the  sky, 
While  numerous  sylphs  attending, 

Show  revelry's  hour  is  nigh. 
Now  amity,  hope,  and  pleasure, 

Smile  placidly,  kiss,  and  toy, 
While  trippingly  dance  in  measure, 

Love,  liberty,  peace,  and  joy. 

Late  dismally  pining  daily, 
Hearts  languidly  sunk  in  wo, 

Now  merrily  bounding  gaily, 
All  playfully  throb  and  glow. 

Now  amity,  hope,  and  pleasure, 
Smile  placidly,  kiss  and  toy, 

While  trippingly  dance  in  measure,  &c. 


82  MELODIES. 

TO    ADELAIDE   FELICITY. 

Supposed  to  express  the  feelings  of  her  Father ,  on  her 
return  from  the  West  Indies. 

Before  thy  infant  lips  could  frame, 
With  lisping  tone,  a  parent's  name ; 
When  first  a  smile  of  playful  grace 
Was  seen  upon  thy  cherub  face ; 
While  dandled  on  thy  mother's  knee — 
Think'st  thou  that  smile  was  dear  to  me  ? 
'Twas,  Adelaide — Felicity. 

When  thou,  at  last,  couldst  run  alone, 
And  lisp  our  names  with  dulcet  tone ; 
And  like  the  lamb,  in  frolic  play, 
Didst  wile  the  laughing  hours  away; 
Thy  father's  bosom  throbb'd  with  glee, 
While  love  maternal  guarded  thee, 
'Twas,  Adelaide— Felicity. 

But  ah !  how  faint  a  joy  was  this, 
Compared  with  our  superior  bliss, 
When,  budding  in  the  spring  of  youth, 
Replete  with  virtue,  love,  and  truth, 
And  every  grace  we  wish'd  to  see, 
Thy  doting  parents  gazed  on  thee — 
'Twas,  Adelaide— Felicity. 

And  when  with  cultivated  mind, 
By  knowledge  stored,  by  art  refined, 


SENTIMENTAL.  83 

Thy  faithful  heart,  thy  hand,  thy  will, 
Were  pledged  to  one  who  holds  them  still, 
One  who  is  worthy  even  thee, 
What  think  you,  owed  the  youth  to  me  ? 
'Twas,  Adelaide — Felicity. 

And  now,  thy  lengthened  absence  o'er, 

I  hold  thee  in  my  arms  once  more, 

And  kiss  the  pearls  of  joy  away, 

And  see  the  smiles  of  rapture  play 

About  the  lips  from  sorrow  free, 

What,  thinkst  thou,  calls  this  tear  from  me  ? 

Tis,  Adelaide — Felicity. 


A   GLEE. 
Air — To  all  you  ladies  now  at  land. 

Let  politicians  rail  and  fight, 

For  president  or  king, 
We  care  not  which  is  wrong  or  right, 

But  gaily  drink  and  sing. 
The  only  party  we  would  join, 
Is  that  of  woman,  wit,  and  wine. 
Then  we'll  push  about  the  bowl,  my  boys. 
Then  we'll  push  about  the  bowl, 
To  exhilirate  the  soul, 
And  heighten  our  convivial  joys.  . 


84  MELODIES. 

TO   GEORGE. 

Nay,  ask  me  not  for  wit  or  rhyme, 
While  this  blue-devil  weather  lasts, 

The  muses  shun  Columbia's  clime 
During  the  equinoctial  blasts. 

Their  native  home  is  most  serene, 

Where  bright  and  cloudless  skies  are  certain, 
A  mountain's-top — as  you  have  seen 

At  Chatham  Garden,  on  the  curtain. 

They'll  not  exchange  a  scene  so  fair, 
Their  verdant  walks  and  rural  sweets 

To  shiver  in  this  misty  air, 
And  wade  along  our  muddy  streets. 

Then  let  them  still  enjoy  their  revels, 
Remote  from  fiends  of  every  hue, 

For  though  they  smile  on  some  poor  devils,   . 
They  never  could  abide  the  blue. 

In  July  last,  so  hot  and  dry, 

When  some  expired  for  want  of  brandy, 
When  not  a  cloud  obscured  the  sky, 

And  fans  were  worn  by  every  dandy : 

Then  would  they  come,  and  round  my  taper, 

En  dishabille,  inspire  me  so, 
That,  though  my  sweat  bedew'd  the  paper, 

I  wrote  some  melting  lines,  you  know. 


SENTIMENTAL.  85 


But  ask  me  not  for  wit  or  rhyme, 
While  this  blue-devil  weather  lasts, 

The  muses  shun  Columbia's  clime. 
During  the  equinoctial  blasts. 


TO  SARAH. 

I  ask'd  the  muse  to  breathe  a  name 

Which  Mercy  loved  the  dearest ; 
The  brightest  on  the  roll  of  fame, 

To  perfect  worth  the  nearest ; 
Whose  heart  would  bleed,  but  never  shrink, 

When  gloom  and  danger  lower'd, 
Who  dared  destruction's  awful  brink, 
To  save  the  wretch  about  to  sink — 

She  smiled  and  whisper'd — "  HOWARD." 

I  ask'd  her  then  to  name  a  fair, 

Whose  thousand  traits  of  beauty, 
Derive  the  sweetest  grace  they  wear 

From  virtue,  love,  and  duty  : 
Who,  when  her  parents  helpless  lay, 

By  fell  disease  o'erpower'd, 
With  tearless,  sleepless  eye,  would  stay 
To  watch  their  couches,  night  and  day, 
The  pangs  of  sickness  to  allay — 

The  muse  still  whisper'd — "  HOWARD." 


MELODIES. 

THE  KALEIDESCOPE. 
Air — Just  like  Love. 

Just  like  Hope,  this  magic  toy 
Shows  a  thousand  forms  of  joy, 
Of  richest  shape  and  sweetest  hue, 
For  ever  varying — ever  new, 
Just  like  Hope. 

Innocence,  a  playful  child, 
Raised  the  tube,  and  look'd,  and  smiled, 
And  still  he  gazed,  with  rapture  wild, 
For  every  change  his  heart  beguiled, 
Just  like  Hope. 

Sage  Experience  chanced  to  pass, 
Seized  the  toy,  and  broke  the  glass, 
And  soon  convinced  the  weeping  boy 
How  false  was  his  illusive  joy, 
Just  like  Hope. 

Still  the  silly  child  believed 
That  his  loss  would  be  retrieved, 
Another  tried,  and  still  he  grieved, 
For  every  flattering  tube  deceived, 
Just  like  Hope. 

Just  like  Hope,  this  magic  toy 
Shows  a  thousand  forma  of  joy,  &c. 


SENTIMENTAL.  87 

THE  IMPRISONED  DEBTOR. 

The  slave  inhales  the  morning  healthful  breeze, 
And  gambols  gaily  o'er  the  verdant  plain ; 

But  ah !  the  debtor  tastes  no  joys  like  these, 
But  breathes  the  fetid  atmosphere  of  pain. 

The  slave  has  friends — a  wife  and  children  dear, 
Whose  fond  caresses  every  grief  dispel ; 

But  ah !  no  friend — no  wife  or  child  is  nest\ 
To  bless  the  debtor's  solitary  cell. 

Near  the  sad  couch  on  which  his  Emma  weeps, 
Her  sickly  fancy  paints  his  wasting  frame ; 

And  from  the  cradle  where  her  infant  sleeps, 
Unconscious  lips  pronounce  a  father's  name. 

Alas,  poor  babe !  thy  father  hears  thee  not ; 

In  the  cold  jail  his  lonely  lamp  he  trims, 
To  wake  and  muse  upon  our  hapless  lot, 

The  chains  of  avarice  clanking  on  his  limbs. 

But  though,  my  child,  our  eyes  dissolve  in  showers, 
Our  cheeks  are  strangers  to  the  blush  of  shame> 

For  oh !  one  boast,  one  legacy  is  ours — 
His  spotless  honour  and  unblemished  fame. 


Unfeeling,  cruel,  and  remorseless  souls ! 
Ye,  who  on  Sunday  still  profanely  pray — 
"  Forgive  our  debts,  as  we,  O  Lord,  forgive 
Our  debtors !" — may  the  letter  of  your  prayers 
Remain  unanswered — for  'tis  death  ye  ask ! 


88  MELODIES. 

THE  FLOWERS  OF  LIFE. 

In  the  journey  of  life,  let  us  scorn  to  complain  of 
The  trifling  impediments  found  in  the  road ; 

The  worst  I  encounter  I  laugh  at  the  pain  of, 
For  sweet-smiling  cheerfulness  lightens  the  load. 

If  I  find  not  a  rose,  I  indulge  not  in  sorrow, 
But  pluck  with  contentment  a  daisy  to-day ; 

Nay,  even  a  sprig  will  feed  hope  for  to-morrow, 
The  humblest  that  nods  to  the  zephyrs  of  May. 

Let  others  dispute,  I'll  avoid  their  dissention, 

Religious,  political,  moral,  or  such  ; 
For  the  lily  of  peace  thus  escapes  their  attention, 

The  sweet  bud  of  pleasure  which  blooms  at  my  touch 

The  blossoms  of  friendship,  surviving  mortality, 
I'll  carefully  cherish  and  wear  in  my  breast ; 

Tho'  its  picture  may  boast  brighter  hues  than  reality, 
Its  fragrance  directs  me,  when  doubtful  the  test. 

The  spirit  of  feeling,  the  soul  of  affection, 
Wildly  ardent  in  rapture,  and  melting  in  wo, 

Whatever  its  image,  attire,  or  complexion, 

With  mine  shall  commingle  in  sympathy's  glow. 

I  ask  not  his  birth-place,  whatever  the  region, 
Hot,  temperate,  frigid — despotic  or  free; 

I  ask  not  his  politics,  creed  or  religion, 

A  Turk,  Jew,  or  Christian — he's  still  dear  to  mo 


SENTIMENTAL.  89 

•  • 


But  ah!  there's  a  flower,  which,  teeming  with  nectar, 
Beneath  its  fair  aspect  screen's  misery's  dart, 

So  artfully  veil'd  that  it  mocks  a  detecter, 

Till,  press'd  to  the  bosom,  it  pierces  the  heart. 

But  still,  to  a  bosom  susceptibly  placid, 

The  anguish  of  love  will  but  heighten  the  joy; 

As  the  bev'rage  uniting  a  sweet  with  an  acid, 
Is  grateful,  when  nectar  untemper'd  would  cloy. 

The  bramble  of  avarice  others  may  nourish, 

Exhausting  life's  soil  of  its  virtues  and  strength; 

I'll  stray  where  the  plants  of  beneficence  flourish, 
And  the  generous  vine  winds  its  serpentine  length. 

Let  misers  pursue  their  mean  sordid  employment, 
And  hoard  up  their  treasures  for  life's  latest  scenes ; 

I'll  waste  not  the  moments  allow' d  for  enjoyment, 
Nor  squander  the  season  in  gaining  the  means. 

Our  object  is  happiness — ne'er  could  we  miss  it, 
In  life's  varied  path,  if  the  talent  were  ours 

From  all  we  encounter  some  good  to  elicit, 
As  bees  gather  sweets  from  the  meanest  of  flowers. 

Then  pluck  every  blossom  of  happiness  blooming; 

Leave  birds  of  contention,  and  play  with  the  dove  ; 
And  our  path,  soon  the  flush  of  enchantment  assuming, 

Will  glow,  an  elysium  of  pleasure  and  love. 


90  MELODIES. 

EDWIN  DELISLE. 

Air — Dark  Loch-na-gar. 

The  battle  was  ended,  whose  direful  commotion 

Gave  tyrants  the  victims  unclaim'd  by  the  wave, 
And  the  last  ray  of  Phoebus  illumin'd  the  ocean, 

As  it  shot  o'er  the  land  of  the  ill-fated  brave. 
The  western  breeze  wafted  the  ship  o'er  the  main, 

Far,  far  from  their  country  and  liberty's  smile ; 
Each  captive  enshackled  with  tyranny's  chain, 

The  noblest  of  whom  was  young  Edwin  Delisle. 

Apart  from  his  comrades,  his  manly  breast  bleeding 

With  anguish  too  piercing  for  nature  to  bear, 
Distracted  he  view'd  his  dear  country  receding, 

And  bade  it  adieu  in  a  tone  of  despair : 
"  O  region  of  happiness,  freedom  and  peace ! 

Columbia,  adieu!  not  for  Edwin  you  smile, 
For  soon,  with  his  sorrows,  existence  must  cease, 

For  rent  is  the  heart  of  poor  Edwin  Delisle. 

"  Eliza !  my  angel !  fate  dooms  us  to  sever, 

Tho'  brought  to  the  climate  that  fosters  thy  charms ; 
In  sight  of  my  country,  I  lose  it  for  ever, 

In  view  of  my  love,  I  am  torn  from  her  arms ! 
Three  times  have  the  seasons  their  circle  fulfill'd, 

Since  Edwin  was  blest  with  affection's  sweet  smile, 
Since,  press'd  to  his  bosom,  Eliza  he  held, 

As  she  sigh'd  a  farewell  to  her  Edwin  Delisle. 


SENTIMENTAL.  91 

"  Three  years  shall  restore  me,  I  cried,  as  we  parted ; 

The  term  has  expir'd,  and  my  eyes  caught  the  shore  ; 
Hope  flatter'd,  then  left  to  despair,  broken-hearted, 

The  wretch  for  whom  freedom  and  joy  are  no  more. 
The  shadows  of  eve  shroud  thy  land  from  my  view, 

But  ah!  there's  another  where  joys  ever  smile! 
God  of  mercy,  forgive  me! — Eliza,  adieu!" 

He  plung'd — and  the  waves  cover'd  Edwin  Delisle. 


A  FAIR  VOCALIST. 

"  What  nymph,"  ask'd  Apollo,  "  will  deign  for  awhile, 
Which  one  of  the  nine,  will  repair  to  the  isle 
Where  virtue,  and  learning,  and  genius,  and  taste, 
Have  chang'd  to  an  Eden  Manhattan's  rude  waste? 
The  science  of  Philipps  no  longer  can  charm, 
The  sweetness  of  Incledon  ceases  to  warm, 
And  the  eager  inhabitants  look  to  the  nine 
For  something  superior — something  divine?" 
"  For  something  divine !"  sage  Minerva  exclaim'd, 
"  Their  wish  has  been  realized  ere  it  was  named ; 
The  sweetest  of  voices  and  faces  unite 
Their  ears,  and  their  eyes,  and  their  hearts,  to  delight ; 
For  the  muses,  and  graces,  and  Pallas,  have  joined 
To  embellish  her  person,  and  polish  her  mind. 
From  sirens  she  pilfer'd  each  tone  that  entrances, 
From  Cupid  her  dimples,  from  Venus  her  glances; 
Thus  enrich'd  by  celestials  with  sweetness  and  worth, 
She  charms,  in  the  person  of  Holroan,  on  earth. 


92  MELODIES. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

What  power  can  prop  a  sinking  soul, 

Oppress'd  with  woes  and  sick  of  grief, 
Bid  the  warm  tear  forbear  to  roll, 
Despair's  heart-rending  sigh  control, 
And  whisper  sweet  relief  ? 

Friendship !  sweet  balm  for  sorrow's  smart, 
In  thee  the  soothing  power  is  found, 

To  heal  the  lacerated  heart, 

Extract  affliction's  venom'd  dart, 
And  close  the  bleeding  wound. 

When  pierc'd  by  grief's  chill  tempest  through, 

The  tendril  bends  beneath  its  power, 
Thou  canst  the  broken  plant  renew : 
Thy  sacred  tear,  like  heavenly  dew, 
Revives  the  drooping  flower. 

If  fortune  frown — if  health  depart, 
Or  death  divide  the  tenderest  tie, 

Friendship  can  raise  the  sinking  heart, 

A  glow  of  real  joy  impart, 
And  wipe  the  tearful  eye. 

If  foes  without  attack  our  name, 

Or  foes  within  assault  our  peace, 
Then  friendship's  pure  celestial  flame 
Can  sooth  the  mfnd — defend  our  fame, 
And  bid  assailants  cease. 


SENTIMENTAL.  93 

Come,  then,  sweet  power,  of  source  divine, 

For  ever  glow  within  my  breast ; 
My  earliest  friend  he  ever  mine, 
One  link  our  hearts  in  union  join, 

To  make  each  other  blest. 


HIBERNIA'S  TEARS. 
Music  ly  GUfert— Published  by  E.  Riley. 

Hibernia's  tears  for  ever  flow, 

Her  harp  in  silence  slumbers ; 
Her  bards  the  patriot  song  forego, 

Nor  dare  to  breathe  its  numbers. 
No  more  they  bid  the  swelling  tone 

In  freedom's,  cause  awaken ; 
Those  happy  days  of  bliss  are  flown, 

And  Erin  weeps,  forsaken ! 

But  though  her  sons  in  exile  roam, 

They  sleep  on  freedom's  pillow ; 
And  Erin's  daughters  find  a  home 

Beyond  the  western  billow. 
There  shall  they  breathe  the  glowing  strain, 

To  joy's  ecstatic  numbers ; 
There  Erin's  harp  shall  wake  again, 

In  rapture,  from  its  slumbers. 


MELODIES. 

CALUMNY. 

Ah,  what  avails  the  shield  of  truth, 
The  charm  of  virtue,  beauty,  youth, 
Against  that  fiend  deform'd,  uncouth, 

Whose  wounds  no  lenient  balm  can  close  ? 
Assail'd  by  Slander's  venom'd  tooth, 
The  sensate  mind  must  droop,  forsooth, 

And  wither  like  a  canker'd  rose. 
Yes,  they  who  ever  felt  the  pang 
Of  Calumny's  inveterate  fang, 
Must  own  that  minstrel  never  sang, 
Of  all  the  woes  from  guilt  that  sprang, 

Of  deeper,  dreader,  deadlier  foes. 

O  thou,  who  hast  been  thus  betray'd 
By  secret  foes,  in  ambush  laid, 
To  plot  and  stab  beneath  the  shade ; 
Whose  viewless  shafts  have  mock'd  the  aid 
Of  Virtue's  buckler  to  evade 

The  cruel,  pointed,  venom'd  barb — 
Know,  hapless  wretch !  whoe'er  thou  be, 
There  is  between  thyself  and  me 
A  sighing  chord  of  sympathy ; 
For  I  have  also  felt,  like  thee, 
The  cureless  wounds  of  Calumny, 
Who  kiss'd  and  stabb'd— for  he— for  he 

Had  stolen  honest  Friendship's  garb. 

But  what,  alas,  avails  complaint  ? 
Be  man  more  holy  than  a  saint, 


SENTIMENTAL.  95 

Be  lovely  woman  "  chaste  as  snow 
And  pure  as  ice,"  they  still  must  know 
The  keenest  pang  of  human  wo, 

The  rankling  wound  of  Calumny. 
But  hear  a  Saviour's  accents  mild, 
"  The  persecuted  and  reviled 

"  Are  blessed,"  saith  the  Lord. 
Then  still,  in  conscious  virtue  clad, 
"  Rejoice,  and  be  exceeding  glad, 

"  For  great  is  your  reward." 


O  TRUST  NOT  HOPE. 

O  trust  not  faithless  Hope  too  far, 

Lest  disappointment's  venom'd  dart 
Should  all  thy  fairest  prospects  mar, 

And  lacerate  thy  constant  heart ; 
For  I  have  trusted  in  her  smile, 

Nor  heard  the  distant  thunder  roll, 
Nor  saw  the  cloud  approach  the  while, 

Whose  lightnings  since  have  pierced  my  soul. 

O  trust  not  then  the  smile  of  hope, 

A  hurricane  succeeds  the  calm, 
E'en  while  we  stroll  some  verdant  slope 

Where  flow'rets  freight  the  breeze  with  balm— 
Ere  we  can  say  "  the  scene  is  sweet," 

'Tis  blasted  by  some  demon's  breath ; 
Then  trust  not,  trust  not,  I  entreat, 

The  treacherous  smile  that  lures  to  death. 


96  MELODIES. 

FEMALE  ORNAMENTS. 

Imitated  from  the  French. 

All  hues  become  a  pretty  face, 
For  beauty  needs  no  foreign  grace ; 
A  flower,  or  any  thing,  in  truth, 
Will  ornament  the  brow  of  youth, 
While  sparkling  gems  may  vainly  shine 
Where  age  and  ugliness  combine. 

O  then,  be  wise,  ye  gentle  fair, 
And  all  the  ornaments  you  wear 
From  taste,  instead  of  wealth,  obtain, 
Nor  longer  court  your  glass  hi  vain. 

The  Prize  of  Beauty  (once  decreed, 
To  Paphian  Venus,  as  we  read) 
Was  not  awarded  to  the  fair 
For  any  brilliants  in  her  hair. 

No,  'twas  her  native  charms  acquired 
The  prize  her  rivals  so  desired  ; 
Her  face,  her  neck,  her  bosom,  waist, 
Her  easy  negligence  and  taste, 
Her  attitude,  her  hair,  her  eyes — 
With  these  the  goddess  won  the  prize. 

O  then,  ye  fair,  who  seek  to  please, 
Cherish  simplicity  and  ease ; 


SENTIMENTAL.  97 

With  modest  taste,  give  no  occasion 
To  quote  Apelles'  observation.* 
Remember,  that  a  grace  denied, 
Was  by  a  bauble  ne'er  supplied. 


THY    RUBY    LIPS    MUST    KISS   THE  BRIM. 
Air — Kate  of  Aberdeen. 

Thy  ruby  lips  must  kiss  the  brim 

Before  I  drain  the  cup, 
Its  lustre  else  will  be  too  dim 

To  light  my  spirits  up. 
Nay,  taste,  my  love — its  purple  hue 

Will  brighter  paint  thy  lip ; 
Thine  eye  will  gain  new  lustre  too, 

Thy  soul  new  ardour — sip ! 

If  rosy  wine  have  power  to  cheer 

The  regents  of  the  sky,f 
It  sure  will  chase  away  the  tear 

That  dims  an  angel's  eye. 
Then  taste,  my  love — its  purple  hue 

Will  brighter  dye  thy  lip ; 
Thine  eye  will  gain  new  lustre  too, 

Thy  soul  new  ardour — sip  ! 


An  ignorant  painter  having  decorated  the  portrait  of  Helen  with  trinketa, 
itoervmi,  Mint  the  picture  was  "  rich  in  ornament,  but  poor  in  beau- 
artist  had  embellished  her  with  jewels,  because  he  had 

int  ln'c  beu n,l>fitl. 

cks  of  Paganism  ;   hut  I  dare  not  avail  myself  of  higher 
vivia!  sorisj,  or  I  would  refer  to  him  who  said  that  "  wina 


ty,"  and  that  the  /'  artist  had  embellished  her  with  jewels,  because  he  had 
not  abilities  to  paint  her  beautiful." 

\  This  idea  smack 
aut'op'y  in  a  con 
checicth  God  and  man.' 


J  MELODIES. 

THE    DEAF   AND   DUMB 

Air — There's  nothing  true  but  Heaven. 

The  ills  which  call  for  pity's  tear. 

Were  all  in  mercy  given ; 
The  fetter'd  tongue,  obstructed  ear, 
And  every  wo  we  suffer  here, 

Invite  us  back  to  Heaven. 

But  he  who  binds  the  bleeding  heart 

By  sorrow's  tempest  riven, 
Whose  kindness  dries  the  tears  that  start, 
Performs  a  man's,  an  angel's  part, 

And  aids  the  plan  of  Heaven. 

Then  see  the  tear  from  misery's  cheek, 

By  love  and  genius  driven ! 
Behold !  they  gain  the  end  they  seek ! 
The  deaf  can  hear  !  the  dumb  can  speak  ! 

And  praise  approving  Heaven. 

And  now  a  bright  and  glorious  morn 

Succeeds  a  dusky  even ; 
The  dazzled  soul,  but  newly  born, 
In  wonder  lost,  salutes  the  dawn, 

And  hails  the  sun  of  heaven. 

The  Muse  no  more  in  foreign  climes  shall  roam, 
While  we've  such  scenes  and  incidents  at  home. 


SENTIMENTAL.  99 

BEAUTY. 

Imitated  from  the  French. 

Beauty,  sweet  mysterious  power, 

Secret  spring  of  all  that  moves, 
Goddess  of  the  Paphian  bower, 

Mother  of  the  infant  loves ; 

Which  can  make  the  wicked  good, 

Savage  sentiments  abolish, 
Melt  the  hard,  refine  the  rude, 

Teach  the  clown  a  courtier's  polish  ; 

Which  can  make  the  simple  wise, 

Or  deprive  the  wise  of  reason ; 
Bid  the  statesman  sink  or  rise, 

Urge  to  loyalty  or  treason  : — 

Now  exciting  modest  fear, 

Now  with  lawless  rudeness  firing; 

Prompting  to  be  faithless  here, 
There  with  constancy  inspiring. 

'Tis  the  power  that  banes  or  blesses; 

Where  shall  we  its  image  find  ? 
'Tis  the  nymph  whose  eye  expresses 

Charms  belonging  to  the  mind. 


We  to  the  fair  evince  a  true  affection 

By  pointing  out  such  faults  as  need  correction. 


100  MELODIES. 

THE  MINSTREL. 

Air — Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw. 

How  happy  is  the  minstrel's  lot, 

Whose  song  each  care  beguiles ; 
The  frowns  of  fortune  fright  him  not, 

Nor  does  he  court  her  smiles. 
Contented  with  his  tuneful  lyre, 

His  art  can  yield  the  rest ; 
He  pours  his  soul  along  the  wire, 

And  rapture  fires  his  breast. 

He  envies  not  the  power  of  kings, 

With  all  their  glittering  toys ; 
The  tones  that  warble  from  his  strings 

Impart  sublimer  joys. 
He  builds  a  world  of  airy  bliss, 

Where  love  erects  his  throne ; 
And  though  his  fancy  frame  the  kiss, 

Its  sweets  are  all  his  own. 

What  though  no  wealth  his  song  repays, 

Nor  laurels  deck  his  lyre; 
The  glow  he  catches  from  its  lays 

Is  bliss  supremely  higher. 
What  though  his  fairy  pleasures  seem 

Illusion's  shapeless  toys — 
He  would  not  lose  so  sweet  a  dream 

For  all  your  waking  joys. 


SENTIMENTAL.  101 

A  DUET. 

Both Now  the  torch  of  rapture  burns, 

Sorrows  fly,  and  joy  returns; 
Hope,  in  blushing  garlands  drest, 
Comes  again,  a  welcome  guest. 

She So  the  gloomy  shades  of  night 

He Fade  before  the  dawn  of  light ; 

She Till  Aurora's  blushing  ray 

Both Kindle  darkness  into  day. 


CONFIDING  WOMAN. 

Confiding  woman  yields  her  hear 
Without  a  reservation, 

While  man  can  only  love  by  art, 
And  sordid  calculation. 

No  earthly  ill  can  him  annoy, 
But  she  would  gladly  bear  it, 

Nor  has  the  world  for  her  a  joy, 
Unless  her  lover  share  it. 


Clear  and  transparent,  like  a  crystal  vase, 
The  female  mind  its  real  worth  displays  ; 
Whether  its  hue  our  praise  or  censure  win. 
It  takes  its  colour  from  the  stores  within. 
9* 


102  MELODIES. 

WILLIAM'S  PROMOTION. 

Air — Paddy  Carey. 

The  drum  had  ceas'd,  the  bugle  slept, 

The  sentry  march'd  with  footsteps  wary, 
When  ditch  and  picket  William  leapt, 

Eager  to  see  his  wedded  Mary. 
But  ah !  his  colonel,  just  before, 

On  her  defenceless  state  presuming, 
Had  entered  Mary's  cottage  door, 

The  husband's  voice  and  dress  assuming. 
Soft  and  sly,  Mary  fled;  William's  eye  sooth'd  her  dread. 

"Ills  infernal  seize  the  colonel!" 

Cried  he,  unwary. 
But  Mary  suggested,  that  he  be  arrested, 

And  as  a  deserter  to  camp  return'd ; 

And  William,  who  with  resentment  burn'd, 
Commends  the  thought,  and  soon  is  brought 
A  brisk  sergeant's  guard ;  the  colonel  pleads  hard, 

But  his  disguise  deceives  all  eyes  ; 

He  swears  and  cries,  while  none  replies ; 

Safely  guarded,  not  retarded, 
William  sees  him  borne  from  Mary ; 

Faithful  Mary,  beautiful  Mary, 
Dear  little,  sweet  little,  constant  Mary 

The  morning  came,  the  reveille  beat, 
The  troops  paraded  bright  and  airy, 

And  there,  in  regimentals  neat, 

William  had  brought  his  lovely  Mary. 


SENTIMENTAL.  103 

The  colonel,  now  restored  to  rank, 

Around  on  milk-white  charger  prances, 
Until  his  eye,  upon  the  flank, 

Is  caught  by  blushing  Mary's  glances. 
Soon  he  asks,  who  was  mad,  to  enlist  such  a  lad ; 
William  ready,  answered  steady, 

Bright,  brisk,  and  airy : 

"  The  youth  I  recruited,  I  hope  you  are  suited, 
For  though  he  is  young,  and  tender,  and  light, 
He  took  a  deserter,  sir,  last  night, 
Though  dark  and  damp,  some  way  from  camp 
The  villain  was  caught,  and  hither  brought, 
In  deep  disguise."     The  colonel's  eyes 
Betray  surprise — at  length  he  cries, 

"  Be  it  noted — you're  promoted 
.Ensign — ever  guard  your  Mary ; 

Faithful  Mary,  beautiful  Mary, 
Dear  little,  sweet  little,  constant  Mary." 


FASHION. 

To  tyrant  Fashion  all  must  yield, 

He  rules  with  sway  despotic, 
And  he  who  dares  contest  the  field, 

Must  be  indeed  Quixotic. 
But  though,  when  he  appears,  we  must, 

Like  courteous  slaves,  receive  him ; 
The  wise  will  ne'er  embrace  himjirst, 

Nor  be  the  last  to  leave  him. 


104  MELODIES. 

RIGHTS   OF    WOMAN 
Air — Fill  the  bumper,  fair. 

While  each  freeman's  son 

Boasts  of  rights  in  plenty, 
Daughters  have  but  one, 

E'en  at  one-and-twenty : 
Tis  the  right  to  choose 

Whom  we  mean  to  marry, 
And,  at  once,  refuse 

Tom,  or  Dick,  or  Harry ; 
'Tis  our  charter'd  right, 

Nature's  hand  has  penn'd  it, 
Let  us  then  unite 

Bravely  to  defend  it. 

While  our  fathers  fought 

For  our  independence, 
Patriot  mothers  taught 

This  to  their  descendants:— 
Daughters  guard  and  save 

Rights  too  dear  to  barter, 
Spurn  the  name  of  slave, 

Freedom  is  your  charter. 
You've  the  right  to  choose 

Whom  you  mean  to  marry, 
Whom  you  will  refuse, 

Tom,  or  Dick,  or  Harry. 

*  As  siv£  in  the  play  of  th«  "  Deed  of  Sift. ' 


SENTIMENTAL.  105 

Men  may  boast  the  bliss 

Of  a  free  election, 
Women  ask  but  this, 

Uncontrolled  affection ; 
Then  we  cheerly  say, 

Tutor'd  by  the  pastor, 
"  Honour,  love,  obey," 

To  our  lord  and  master. 
Daughters,  guard  and  save 

Rights  too  dear  to  barter, 
Spurn  the  name  of  slave, 

Freedom  is  our  charter. 

There's  a  claim  more  strong 

Than  a  sire's  or  brother's ; 
If  they  think  us  wrong, 

Let  them  ask  our  mothers : 
When  they  play'd  their  parts, 

Urged  by  love  and  beauty, 
With  their  hands  and  hearts 

They  transferr'd  their  duty. 
'Tis  our  charter' d  right, 

Nature's  hand  has  penn'd  it, 
Let  us  then  unite 

Bravely  to  defend  it. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

From  this  bright  source  a  stream  of  blessings  flows, 
To  more  than  balance  all  Pandora's  woes. 


106  MELODIES. 

THE    WATERMAN. 

From  a  Manuscript  Play. 

Let  philosophers  boast  of  their  learning  and  skill, 

And  tell  us  what  sages  have  thought  o'  men ; 
It  yet  is  a  fact,  sirs,  deny  it  who  will, 

Human  nature's  the  study  for  watermen 
For  ours  is  the  talent  to  soon  put  afloat 

All  ages,  professions,  and  sizes  ; 
From  the  sweep's  sooty  rug  to  the  gaudy  laced  coat, 
As  the  grade  to  the  general  rises. 
While  we  row, 
To  and  fro, 
One  way  look,  the  other  go. 

Our  boats  convey  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  great,  the  small,  the  rich,  the  poor, 
The  short,  the  tall,  the  fat,  the  lean, 
The  fair,  the  brown,  the  brave,  the  mean ; 
The  maid,  the  widow,  wife,  and  mother, 
And  some  who're  neither  one  nor  'tother. 
Thus  ours  is  the  talent,  &c. 

There's  querists,  quibblers,  quids  and  quakers, 
Butchers,  brokers,  brewers,  bakers, 
Blacksmiths,  boatmen,  bailiffs,  butlers, 
Cartmen,  coopers,  caulkers,  cutlers, 
Drummers,  drapers,  drivellers,  drovers, 
Riggers,  ravers,  ranters,  rovers; 


SENTIMENTAL.  107 

Farmers,  fiddlers,  fuddlers,  furriers, 
Carvers,  clothiers,  clerks,  and  curriers ; 
Gownmen,  grocers,  gardeners,  gilders, 
Bullies,  bruisers,  barbers,  builders; 
Founders,  framers,  fools,  refiners, 
Jurors,  judges,  jobbers,  joiners ; 
Saddlers,  sweepers,  singers,  sailors, 
Tanners,  turners,  tinkers,  tailors ; 
Tenants,  tyrants,  truants,  teachers, 
Poets,  printers,  painters,  preachers. 
Thus  ours  is  the  talent,  &c. 

Tobacconists,  book-binders,  stone-cutters,  sawyers, 
With  carpenters,  constables,  lovers,  and  lawyers ; 
Musicians,  confectioners,  vintners  and  glaziers, 
With  inn-keepers,  ink-makers,  hatters,  and  braziers ; 
Auctioneers,  and  attorneys,  with  priests,  and  physicians, 
Engravers,  designers,  and  scribbling  magicians. 
Thus  ours  is  the  talent,  &c. 

Shoe-makers,  watch-makers,  coach-makers,  sail-maker^ 
Rope-makers,  chair-makers,  pin-makers,  pail-makers ; 
With  weighers,  surveyors, 
Street  inspectors, 
Bank  directors ; 
The  seller  of  jewels, 
And  the  fighter  of  duels. 
Thus  ours  is  the  talent  to  soon  put  afloat, 

All  ages,  professions,  and  sizes, 
From  the  sweep's  sooty  rug,  &c. 


108  MELODIES. 

THE  NEEDLE. 

The  gay  belles  of  fashion  may  boast  of  excelling 

In  waltz  or  cotillion — at  whist  or  quadrille  j 
And  seek  admiration  by  vauntingly  telling 

Of  drawing,  and  painting,  and  musical  skill ; 
But  give  me  the  fair  one,  in  country  or  city, 

Whose  home  and  its  duties  are  dear  to  her  heart, 
Who  cheerfully  warbles  some  rustical  ditty, 

While  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art. 
The  bright  little  needle— the  swift-flying  needle, 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

If  Love  have  a  potent,  a  magical  token, 

A  talisman,  ever  resistless  and  true — 
A  charm  that  is  never  evaded  or  broken, 

A  witchery  certain  the  heart  to  subdue — • 
'Tis  this — and  hfs  armoury  never  has  furnish'd 

So  keen  and  unerring,  or  polish'd  a  dart; 
Let  Beauty  direct  it,  so  pointed  and  burnish'd, 

And  Oh  !  it  is  certain  of  touching  the  heart* 

Be  wise  then,  ye  maidens,  nor  seek  admiration 

By  dressing  for  conquest,  and  flirting  with  all ; 
You  never,  whate'er  be  your  fortune  or  station, 

Appear  half  so  lovely  at  rout  or  at  ball, 
As  gaily  convened  at  a  work-covered  table, 

Each  cheerfully  active  and  playing  her  part, 
Beguiling  the  task  with  a  song  or  a  fable, 

And  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art. 


'  ii  i>;   s  i'1,  K 


MELODIES. 


IV...NATI01TAL    AND    PATRIOTIC. 


WAR. 

tfie  6ee  is  to  the  floweret. 

Gentle  Peace,  on  ruffled  pinion, 
Flies  from  Freedom's  injured  realm; 

War  extends  his  rough  dominion, 
Vengeance  nodding  on  his  helm. 

Harshly  sounds  the  trumpet's  clamour, 
While  our  warriors  leap  to  arms  ; 

Beauty  shrinks  in  fearful  tremour, 
Snatching  graces  from  alarms. 

Harsh  to  us  the  martial  clarion, 
Who  with  peace  and  freedom  blest> 

Bade  the  desert,  drear  and  barren, 
Smile  a  garden  in  the  west. 

Harsh  to  us,  whose  fair  pretentions 
Ne'er  infringed  a  nation's  right, 

Who  have  tamely  borne  aggressions, 
Rather  than  engage  in  fight. 
10 


HO  MELODIES. 

FREEDOM'S    STAR. 

Air — God  save  the  king. 

Hail,  Star  of  Freedom,  hail ! 
Whose  splendour  ne'er  shall  fail, 

In  peace  or  war ; 
Long  shall  thy  golden  ray 
O'er  these  bless' d  regions  play, 
While  millions  own  the  sway 

Of  Freedom's  Star. 

Our  sires,  a  pilgrim  band, 
Who  sought  this  promis'd  land, 

From  realms  afar, 
Spurn'd  fell  oppression's  sway, 
And  dared  the  pathless  way, 
Led  by  the  golden  ray 

Of  Freedom's  Star. 

Their  sons,  with  kindred  flame, 
Have  earn'd  an  equal  fame, 

In  peace  and  war ; 
Determined  to  be  free, 
Have  fought  by  land  and  sea; 
Led  on  to  victory, 

By  Freedom's  Star. 

Beneath  her  temple's  dome, 
Here  wanderers  find  a  home 


PATRIOTIC.  Ill 


From  realms  afar ; 
Blest  in  their  happy  choice, 
Here  will  they  long  rejoice, 
And  with  united  voice, 

Hail  Freedom's  Star. 


YES,    YES,    I   GO. 
A  Polacca — Music  by  Davies. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  go" — he  whispered  soft, 

"  In  freedom's  cause  my  sword  to  wield, 
"  Columbia's  banner  waves  aloft, 

"And  glory  calls  me  to  the  field." 
Then  foremost  on  the  foe  he  prest, 

While  war's  rude  tempest  wildly  roar'd, 
Till  gushing  from  the  hero's  breast 

The  purple  tide  in  torrents  pour'd. 

He  fell,  and  oh  !  what  fancies  stole 
Through  memory's  vista,  bright  and  warm, 

Till  one  loved  image  o'er  his  soul 
Came  like  an  angel  in  the  storm. 

But  loudly  swell'd  the  bugle's  blast, 
His  hand  instinctive  grasp' d  the  steel, 

Again  it  swell'd — but  all  was  past, 

The  warrior's  breast  had  ceased  to  feel. 


112  MELODIES. 

rREHraOM'S    CONSTELLATION. 

Air —  Yankee-doodle. 

Glory  gilds  the  western  skies 

With  bright  irradiation, 
Where  twenty  brilliant  stars  arise, 

In  Freedom's  Constellation. 
See  the  glittering  orbs  revolve 

Around  the  sun  of  union ! 
And  never  shall  the  tie  dissolve 

Which  holds  them  in  communion. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause, 

And  gilds  her  reputation ; 
This  secures  her  earth's  applause, 

And  Heaven's  approbation. 

Long  shall  live  Columbia's  name, 

In  patriotic  story, 
And  long  around  her  brow  shall  flame 

A  bright  unsullied  glory. 
Virtue's  panoply  she  wears, 

Her  weapons  truth  and  justice, 
The  olive-branch  her  standard  bears, 

In  Heaven  alone  her  trust  is. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c. 

Mild  religion's  lucid  ray 
Her  glowing  prospect  brightens, 

And  superstition  shuns  the  day 
Which  literature  enlightens. 


PATRIOTIC.  113 

Charity's  celestial  flame 

Here  sheds  its  mild  effulgence, 
For  every  party,  sect,  and  name, 

Enjoys  the  same  indulgence. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c. 

Freemen  reap  the  fertile  soil 

Their  valour  has  defended, 
And  smiling  plenty  crowns  the  toil 

Which  health  and  hope  attended. 
Exiles  here  a  refuge  find, 

Secure  from  persecution, 
And  bless  the  wisdom  that  design'd 

Our  glorious  constitution. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c. 

See  our  mighty  realm  increase, 

Since  independence  crown'd  it, 
And  its  growth  shall  never  cease, 

Till  oceans  only  bound  it ; 
Still  Columbia  never  fights 

For  conquest  or  for  plunder, 
Nothing  but  insulted  rights 

Can  wake  her  martial  thunder. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c. 

See  Neptune  with  the  lakes  allied, 

No  legendary  story, 
The  god  of  ocean  gains  a  bride 

Where  Perry  wedded  glory. 
10* 


114  MELODIES. 

See  potent  steam's  resistless  charm 
Uniting  distant  places, 

Till  Mississippi's  giant  arm 
The  Hudson's  form  embraces. 

This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c. 

Hail,  thou  mistress  of  the  west ! 

Where  freemen  hold  dominion, 
Where  the  dove  may  safely  rest 

Beneath  the  eagle's  pinion ; 
Long  as  Cynthia  wheels  her  car, 

Or  Phoebus  holds  his  station, 
Be  virtue  still  the  brightest  star 

In  Freedom's  Constellation. 
This  exalts  Columbia's  cause,  &c, 


'TWAS    WAR. 

Air — O  breathe  not  his  name. 

'Twas  war — and  the  plough  in  the  furrow  was  stayed, 
Each  art  was  relinquish'd  for  musket  and  blade; 
The  pipe  of  the  swain  in  the  valley  was  still, 
While  the  bugle  rung  loud  from  each  fortified  hill. 

The  cause  of  humanity,  freedom,  and  truth, 
Enkindled  o,  flame  in  the  breast  of  each  youth, 
Which,  fann'd  by  the  air  that  our  freemen  respire, 
Soon  burst  on  the  foe  in  a  deluge  of  fire. 


PATRIOTIC.  115 

FREEDOM'S    JUBILEE. 

Air — Scots  who,  hae  wi'   Wallace  bled. 

Freedom's  Jubilee  again 
Calls  for  music's  richest  strain, 
Hail  her  bright  auspicious  reign, 

Hail  the  Jubilee. 
Louder  let  the  Anthem  swell, 
And  to  listening  seraphs  tell, 
That  the  land  in  which  we  dwell 

Ever  will  be  free. 

On  this  day  Columbians  broke 
Stern  oppression's  galling  yoke, 
And,  by  one  decisive  stroke, 

Made  their  children  free  ; 
'Twas  the  birth  of  freedom  here, 
'Tis  a  day  to  freemen  dear, 
Let  us,  then,  each  rolling  year, 

Keep  the  Jubilee. 

Long  and  bloody  was  the  fray 
Ere  Columbia  gain'd  the  day, 
Lowly  many  a  hero  lay, 

Dying  to  be  free. 
But  immortal  Washington 
Led  Columbia's  patriots  on, 
Till  the  glorious  prize  was  won, 

PEACE  and  LIBERTY. 


116  MELODIES. 

THE    BATTLE. 

A  Martial  Medley — Music  by  Dames. 

Recitative. 
O  who,  reclined  in  dastard  ease, 

Could  hear  his  country  call  in  vain, 

Or  view  her  banner  court  the  breeze, 

Nor  sigh  to  seek  the  hostile  plain  ? 

Air. 

O  perish  such  wretches  !  while,  eager  for  glory, 
The  youth  of  our  country  are  rushing  to  arms ; 
The  deeds  of  our  sires,  if  we  list  to  the  story, 
Excite  in  our  bosoms  a  spirit  that  charms. 

Recitative. 

But  hark !  the  cannon's  awful  roar 
Proclaims  the  deadly  fray  begun ! 
The  hostile  ranks  have  met  once  more, 
And  clouds  of  smoke  obscure  the  sun. 

Air. 
The  soul-stirring  bugle  now  sounds  to  the  charge, 

And  our  cavalry  rush  like  a  tempest  along ; 
The  wing  of  the  foe,  on  the  cataract's  verge, 
Is  broken  and  turn'd  by  a  current  so  strong. 

The  havoc  increases,  the  squadrons  unite, 
The  clashing  of  sabres  is  heard  in  the  din, 

All  rushing  with  ardour  to  share  in  the  fight, 
While  bayonets  bristle  terrific  between. 


PATRIOTIC.  117 

The  shouts  of  the  victors,  the  groans  of  the  dying, 

The  shrill-sounding  fife,  and  the  drum's  noisy  rattle, 
The  prancing  of  coursers,  in  charging  or  flying, 
Unite  in  augmenting  the  din  of  the  battle. 

Recitative. 
But,  hark !  the  distant  bugle's  strain 

Proclaims  the  vanquish'd  foe  is  flying; 
He  leaves  behind  the  ensanguined  plain, 
Where  half  his  host  are  dead  or  dying. 

Air. 

The  tumult  subsides,  and  the  carnage  is  done, 
The  field  is  our  own,  for  the  battle  is  won ; 
Our  bugle  proclaims  us  the  lords  of  the  day, 
With  victory,  liberty,  glory,  huzza ! 


THE   ONSET. 

Air — Harp  of  Memnon. 

See !  at  length,  indignant  Justice 
Bares  her  sabre's  spotless  blade ! 

Swears  by  Him  in  whom  her  trust  is, 
Every  wrong  shall  be  repaid  ! 

Hark !  the  horrid  fray  commences ! 

Mars  has  slipp'd  the  dogs  of  war, 
Death  on  every  side  dispenses, 

Spreading  ruin  round  his  car. 


US  MELODIES. 

THE    BUGLE. 
Music  by  E.  C.  Riley. 

Deep  murmuring  down  the  lonely  dell, 
The  dull  tattoo,  with  drowsy  swell, 
Had  bid  the  march- worn  soldier  rest, 
With  armour  buckled  on  his  breast. 

But,  hark !  what  cry  alarms  ? 

The  foe  at  hand ! — to  arms ! 

And,  darting  from  the  ground, 

The  slumbering  veterans  bound, 
While  the  bugle  sounds  the  charge,  rousing  echo  with 

the  sound. 

And  now  the  cannon's  sullen  roar, 
Deep  rolls  along  Ontario's  shore, 
While  Freedom's  sons  surprised  remain, 
Their  watchword  stole— their  pickets  slain. 
In  vain  their  trump  alarms, 
In  vain  they  cry,  to  arms  ! 
The  foe  from  ambush  springs, 
Their  yell  the  welkin  rings, 

While  the  bugle  sounds  retreat,  adding  speed  to  ter 
ror's  wings. 

Shall  Freedom's  veterans  fly  the  field, 
Her  heroes  shrink— her  chieftains  yield? 
Say,  where's  the  spirit  of  the  brave 
Who  bled  Columbia's  rights  to  save? 


PATRIOTIC.  119 

It  lives !  it  breathes !  it  warms ! 
Roused  by  the  clash  of  arms, 
Vengeance,  with  eye  of  flame, 
Fires  with  a  love  of  fame, 

While  the  bugle  sounds  the  rally,  until  victory  we 
claim. 


LA    FAYETTE'S    WELCOME. 

Air — When  first  infant  Liberty. 

The  banner  of  Liberty,  proudly  unfurl'd, 

Is  waving  in  triumph  o'er  turret  and  dome, 
For  the  hero,  whose  fame  has  enlightened  the  world, 

Revisits  a  people  who  welcome  him  home. 
The  hero,  who,  spurning  the  pleasures  that  wait 
On  fortune  and  rank,  in  the  halls  of  the  great, 
The  foes  of  Columbia  intrepidly  met, 
Our  national  guest,  is  the  brave  La  Fayette. 

He  saw  infant  Liberty  struggling  for  life, 

When  clouds  of  despair  had  her  prospects  o'ercast, 
The  tempest  was  raging,  he  courted  the  strife, 
His  generous  bosom  was  bared  to  the  blast. 
Then  welcome  him,  freemen !  he  succour'd  our  cause, 
With  Washington  fought  for  our  rights  and  our  laws ; 
The  foes  of  Columbia  intrepidly  met, 
Then  hail  the  return  of  the  brave  La  Fayette. 


120  MELODIES. 

A   MASONIC    ODE. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

Dark  was  the  hour,  when  Columbia,  despairing, 

Breathed  her  petitions  for  succour  in  vain, 
While  in  her  vallies  the  war-torch  was  glaring, 

Sweeping  her  hamlets  and  cots  from  the  plain. 
Wounded  and  bleeding  her  sons  were  retiring, 
Flush'd  with  successes,  the  foeman  pursued ; 
Freedom  and  Hope  seem'd  in  tortures  expiring, 
Heroes  were  sleeping  in  death,  unsubdued 
"  Great  source  of  light!"  she  cried, 
"  No  more  thy  presence  hide, 
"/*  there  no  help?  We  are  sorely  beset." 
Soon  as  the  mourner  spoke, 
Bright  rays  of  glory  broke, 
Round  a  young  hero — the  brave  La  Fayette. 

Lo !  from  the  east ,  with  a  mystic  resplendence, 

Rose  the  bright  star  which  enlightened  the  gloom ; 
Led  by  its  ray,  and  our  loved  Independence, 

Came  the  young  knight,  with  his  bright  glossy  plume. 
Washington  saw,  and  with  rapture  elated, 

Press'd  to  his  bosom  the  chivalrous  boy ; 
Tyranny  frown'd,  and  with  hate  unabated, 

Sought,  like  a  Herod,  the  youth  to  destroy. 
Fierce  raged  the  vengeful  fray, 
Till  freemen  gain'd  the  day, 

Age-frosted  veterans  remember  it  yet : 


PATRIOTIC.  121 

Then  gallant  Washington 
Hail'd  Gallia's  godlike  son, 
Champion  of  freedom,  the  brave  La  Fayette. 

Thus  was  the  temple  of  freedom  erected, 

Crown'd  with  the  key-stone  of  union  and  love; 
Wisdom,  and  Beauty,  and  Strength,  were  connecters 

Three  noble  pillars  which  nothing  can  move. 
Tyrants  may  rage,  and  in  triple  alliance, 

Seek  to  demolish  so  sacred  a  dome  ; 
Trusting  in  Heaven,  we  bid  them  defiance, 
While  we  thus  welcome  its  architect  home. 
Hail !  friend  of  Washington ! 
Hail !  Gallia's  godlike  son ! 
Brother !  companion !  as  such  dearer  yet, 
Long  may  thy  friendly  smile 
Our  festive  hours  beguile, 
Long  may  freemasons  thus  hail  La  Fayette. 


LA    FAYETTE. 

When  the  lily  of  Gallia  first  bloom'd  in  our  valley, 
'Twas  planted  by  one  we  shall  never  forget, 

It  was  spotless  and  white,  like  the  delicate  light 
Which  beam'd  from  the  eye  of  the  young  La  Fayette. 

When  the  ever-green  laurel  we  won  in  the  quarrel, 
By  Washington's  finger  beside  it  was  set, 

O  the  beautiful  cluster  emitted  a  lustre 
Like  that  which  now  circles  the  brave  La  Fayette. 
11 


122  MELODIES. 

HAIL,    LA    FAYETTE! 

Mr— The  Last  Bugle. 

Hark !  the  martial  drum  hails  the  approach  of  the  brave ! 
The  hero  who  comes  o'er  the  proud-swelling  wave, 
To  the  land  he  defended,  the  land  of  the  free, 
Which  greets  his  return  with  a  grand  jubilee, 
While  her  sons,  to  acknowledge  sweet  gratitude's  debt, 
Now  awake  the  loud  bugle,  to  hail  La  Fayette. 

All  hail,  gallant  soldier !  thy  fame  shall  extend, 
As  Liberty's  champion,  and  Washington's  friend, 
Till  all,  in  the  light  of  its  glory,  shall  see 
A  world  disenthrall'd,  independent,  and  free; 
While  millions,  inspired  by  sweet  gratitude's  debt, 
Shall  awake  the  loud  bugle,  to  hail  La  Fayette. 


LA    FAYETTE. 

See  him  surrounded  by  admiring  crowds, 

And  modestly  receive  their  salutations, 
While  their  united  plaudits  rend  the  clouds, 

To  prove  republics  may  be  grateful  nations. 
Behold  him  grasp  some  hoary  veteran's  hand, 

Or  press  an  old  associate  to  his  breast, 
While  in  his  eyes  the  tears  of  rapture  stand, 

By  which  the  noblest  feelings  are  exprest. 

Behold  him  in  the  festive  scene,  where  one 
Full  tide  of  pleasure  through  each  bosom  flowi, 


PATRIOTIC.  123 

Or  bending  o'er  the  tomb  of  Washington, 
Or  on  the  ensanguined  spot  where  freedom's  foes 
Beheld  him  leading  her  resistless  van — 
In  every  scene  you  find  him  still — a  man. 
But  O,  the  moral  grandeur  of  that  hour, 
When  introduced  beneath  our  Senate's  dome, 
The  solemn  conclave  hailed  him  welcome  home, 
Leaves  human  language  destitute  of  power 
To  do  it  justice.    It  was  more  sublime 
Than  any  scene  upon  the  page  of  time. 


THE    GOD    OF    BATTLE. 

Music  by  Swindells. 

The  god  of  battle  be  thy  shield, 
And  guard  my  love  from  danger, 

When  havoc  desolates  the  field, 
Whence  pity  flies  a  stranger. 

Where  hearts,  determined  to  be  free, 

Assume  relentless  rigour, 
And  arms  which  strike  for  liberty, 

Possess  immortal  vigour, 

There  guard  my  gallant  soldier's  breast, 
Till  victory  light  upon  his  crest ; 
And  when  the  foeman  flies  before  him, 
O  then  to  love  and  me  restore  him. 


124  MELODIES. 

PROGRESS   OF   IMPROVEMENT. 

Yes,  blest  Columbians ! — In  this  favour'd  clime, 
What  new-born  beauties  mark  the  track  of  time ! 
His  every  footstep,  through  the  forest's  gloom, 
Gives  birth  to  flowerets  of  unfading  bloom. 
No  crumbling  towers  (the  monuments  of  pride 
And  stern  oppression)  at  his  touch  divide ; 
No  fertile  fields  here  fade  beneath  his  tread, 
No  smoke  of  blazing  cities  wreathes  his  head ; 
But  in  his  path  a  blushing  Eden  springs, 
While  countless  joys  are  scatter 'd  from  his  wings ! 

Our  late  departed  guest,  brave  La  Fayette, 
To  whom  Columbia  owes  so  vast  a  debt, 
With  almost  speechless  joy  and  wonder,  traced 
Refinement's  progress  through  the  savage  waste, 
Where  erst  his  youthful  arm  had  bared  the  blade, 
The  drooping  cause  of  liberty  to  aid ; 
When  from  a  princely  court  he  sped  his  way 
To  meet  the  foes  of  freedom  in  the  fray; 
Resolved  for  glory's  dazzling  goal  to  run, 
And  share  the  prize  with  none  but  Washington ! 

Where  then  dark  forests  echoed  war's  alarms, 
The  veteran  now  beheld  rich  cultured  farms ! 
With  meadows,  orchards,  fields  of  waving  grain, 
And  herds  of  cattle  grazing  on  the  plain ! 
Where  then  the  wolf  and  panther  prowl'd  for  prey, 
He  now  beheld  our  flocks  in  safety  stray ! 


PATRIOTIC.  125 

Saw  lowing  kine  supply  the  milk-maid's  pail, 
Where  antlered  stags  once  hounded  through  the  vale ! 
And  heard  the  shepherd's  wild-notes  sweetly  swell 
O'er  the  rocks  once  startled  by  the  Indian  yell ! 

More  westward  still,  he  turn'd  his  wondering  eyes, 
Where  hamlets,  towns,  and  villages,  arise 
Along  the  course  of  that  stupendous  chain 
Which  now  unites  fair  Erie  to  the  main. 
Commerce  was  there,  in  all  his  golden  pride, 
With  blooming  agriculture  at  his  side'; 
While  smiling  plenty  followed  in  their  train, 
And  pour'd  her  bounties  o'er  the  teeming  plain; 
The  chief  beheld,  and  felt  his  bosom  glow, 
To  view  the  blessings  which  from  freedom  flow. 

But  when  he  saw  the  sages  of  the  land 
Convened,  to  place  in  some  deserving  hand 
The  reins  of  power,  the  car  of  state  to  guide, 
In  peace  or  war,  whatever  fate  betide ; 
A  chief  installed,  without  that  vain  parade 
Which  dazzles  vassals  when  their  kings  are  made — 
Fired  with  the  moral  grandeur  of  the  scene, 
With  tear-drops  gushing  from  an  eye  serene, 
He  saw — he  heard — and  with  expanding  breast, 
Pronounced  Columbia's  sons  supremely  blest. 


Fair  Science  her  portals  of  light  shall  unfold, 
And  Genius  soar  upwards  on  pinions  of  gold. 


126  MELODIES. 

INDEPENDENCE. 

Air— The  Reel  of  Tullochgorum.* 

Come  crowd  around  the  festive  board, 
And  join  the  song  with  one  accord, 
Be  every  breast  with  pleasure  stored, 

And  care  and  envy  send  hence. 
Our  dear-bought  freedom  we  will  praise, 
Dear  bought  freedom — dear  bought  freedom — 
Our  dear-bought  freedom  we  will  praise, 

The  right  of  our  descendants ; 
Our  dear-bought  freedom  we  will  praise, 
And  every  glowing  heart  shall  raise 
The  chorus  of  our  joyful  lays, 

Columbia's  Independence. 

Be  party  rancour  banish'd  hence, 
For  peace  is  virtue's  recompense ; 
Friendship  and  love  on  no  pretence 

Should  ever  meet  with  hinderance. 
Let  sons  of  freedom  e'er  agree — 
Sons  of  freedom — sons  of  freedom — 
Let  sons  of  freedom  e'er  agree, 

In  amity's  attendance ; 
Let  sons  of  freedom  e'er  agree, 
For  why  should  men,  existing  free, 
Deform  with  discord's  stormy  sea — 

Columbia's  Independence  ? 

*  A  celebrated  Scotch  dance,  much  in  vogue  at  Aberdeen,  in  Scotland 


PATRIOTIC.  127 

We  here  assemble  to  rejoice 
That  patriots,  with  united  voice, 
Once  rose  and  made  this  manly  choice, 

For  them  and  their  descendants. 
They  freedom's  eagle  raised  on  high — 
Freedom's  eagle — freedom's  eagle — 
They  freedom's  eagle  raised  on  high, 

Amid  the  stars'  resplendence ; 
They  freedom's  eagle  raised  on  high, 
And  swore  to  fight  or  bravely  die, 
If  foreign  despots  dare  deny 

Columbia's  Independence. 

Bellona  goads  her  foaming  steeds, 
Beneath  her  car  oppression  bleeds, 
And  tyranny  with  haste  recedes, 

With  all  its  curst  attendants ; 
Our  patriot  fathers  gain'd  the  day — 
Patriot  fathers — patriot  fathers — 
Our  patriot  fathers  gain'd  the  day, 

For  them  and  their  descendants ; 
Our  patriot  fathers  gain'd  the  day, 
For  which  we  raise  the  joyful  lay, 
And  on  our  banners  still  display 

Columbia's  Independence. 

Then  freedom  bade  her  temple  rise, 
Whose  fabric  every  foe  defies, 
While  joyous  seraphs  from  the  skies 
Bestow  their  glad  attendance ; 


128  MELODIES. 

And  shades  of  martyrs  smiling  see — 
Shades  of  martyrs — shades  of  martyrs — 
And  shades  of  martyrs  smiling  see 

The  joy  of  their  descendants; 
And  shades  of  martyrs  smiling  see 
Their  sons  united,  brave  and  free, 
And  yearly  hail,  with  mirth  and  glee, 

Columbia's  Independence. 


PRINTERS'    ODE. 

Air — Anacreon  in  heaven. 

From  the  crystalline  courts  of  the  temple  of  light, 

The  dove-eye  of  mercy  to  earth  was  directed, 
Where  mortals  were  grov'ling,  deep  shrouded  in  night ; 
For  passion  was  worshipp'd  and  wisdom  rejected: 
Immersed  in  each  ill 
Of  corrupted  free-will, 
Yet  mercy  was  patient,  and  patience  slept  still : 

For  infinite  Love  had  his  banner  unfurl'd, 
And  the  precepts  of  wisdom  were  preach'd  to  the  world. 

But  haughty  ambition  extended  his  reign, 

And  wielded  the  sceptre  of  magic  delusion, 
Held  reason  enshackled  in  tyranny's  chain, 

And  govern'd  by  knowledge  and  learning's  exclusion. 
With  mitre  and  hood, 
Superstition  and  blood, 
Corruption  and  vice  deluged  earth  like  a  flood ; 


PATRIOTIC.  129 

The  blood-crimson'd  banner  of  war  was  unfurl'd, 
And  knowledge  and  science  were  swept  from  the  world. 

Deep  lock'd  in  the  shrine  of  antiquity's  lore, 

The  Scriptures  of  light  were  withheld  unexpounded, 
A  counterfeit  Peter  still  guarded  the  door, 

And  the  seekers  of  truth  were  by  error  confounded. 
Omnipotence  saw — 
Bade  delusion  withdraw, 

And  ordain'd  that  our  art  should  promulgate  his  law. 
Then  Genius  his  fetters  at  tyranny  hurl'd, 
And  printing  appeared,  to  enlighten  the  world. 

The  blush  of  Aurora  now  lighted  the  east, 

And  banish'd  the  darkness  of  mystical  terror : 
Man  sprang  from  the  shrine  of  the  mystical  beast, 
While  prejudice  own'd  and  relinquish'd  his  error, 
The  truth  was  received, 
Admired  and  believed, 

And  our's  is  the  art  which  the  blessing  achieved: 
For  now  was  the  banner  of  wisdom  unfurl'd, 
And  printing  arose,  like  a  sun,  to  the  world. 

The  sage  of  Genoa,  whose  emulous  soul, 

By  a  flash  from  our  art,  glow'd  with  new  inspiration ; 
In  brilliant  perspective  saw  glory's  bright  goal, 
And  enroll'd  a  new  world  on  the  page  of  creation. 
With  high-swelling  breast, 
Still  onward  he  press'd, 
Till  Eden's  bright  regions  appear'd  in  the  west, 


130  MELODIES. 

Each  clime  saw  the  canvas  of  Europe  unfurl'd, 
While  printing  taught  commerce  to  polish  the  world. 

But  the  sons  of  the  west  to  more  glory  were  born, 

And  to  us  shall  proud  Europe  the  laurel  surrender; 
For  tho'  her's  was  the  blushing  effulgence  of  morn, 
Yet  our's  is  the  noon  of  meridian  splendour; 
For  Heaven  decreed 
That  Columbia  be  freed, 
And  printing  and  valour  accomplish'd  the  deed. 
The  banner  of  war  was  by  justice  unfurl'd, 
And  freedom  by  printing  proclaim'd  to  the  world. 

Our  standard  the  eagle  of  liberty  bears, 

His  eyes,  like  the  stars  that  surround  him,  resplendent, 
While  the  olive  asks  peace,  every  arrow  declares, 
Columbia  for  ever  shall  be  independent ; 
For  freedom  is  our's, 
Nor  shall  Europe's  mad  powers 
A  feather  e'er  filch  from  our  bird  as  he  towers; 
And  while  a  free  PRESS  thus  enlightens  the  world, 
The  banner  of  Liberty  ne'er  shall  be  furl'd. 


MY    LYRE. 

Columbia  call'd — to  arms  her  heroes  sprung, 
I  felt  the  impulse,  and  of  glory  sung  ; 
Swept  o'er  the  chords,  assumed  a  loftier  lay, 
And  venturous  dared  with  bolder  hand  to  play. 


PATRIOTIC.  131 

ART    OF    PRINTING. 

Air — The  Dauphin. 

When  o'er  proud  Tiber's  flood 

Fair  Science  rear'd  her  dome, 
And  Greece  had  lent  her  arts 

To  gild  imperial  Rome  ; 
Ambitious  Genius  aim'd  her  flight 

To  seek  Unknown  renown, 
But,  veil'd  in  sable  shades  of  night, 

She  sunk  bewildered  down ; 
For  fate  to  them  denied  the  art 

Which  gives  to  knowledge  birth, 
Refines  the  human  heart, 

And  scatters  bliss  on  earth. 

No  soft  refinements  graced 

Or  harmonized  the  mind, 
For  maddening  war's  career 

Left  calmer  joys  behind; 
The  social  ties  which  life  endear 

Their  thoughts  could  ne'er  engage; 
The  sympathetic  smile  and  tear 

Were  lost  in  battle's  rage : 
For  fate  to  them  denied  the  art 

Which  gives  to  knowledge  birth, 
Refines  the  human  heart, 

And  scatters  bliss  on  earth. 


13  J  MELODIES. 

Time  told  a  thousand  years 

On  his  eventful  page, 
When  Faust,  at  length,  appears 

To  bless  the  happy  age ; 
His  plastic  hand  lends  genius  wings. 

Bids  wisdom  proudly  soar, 
And  infant  learning  joyful  springs 

With  powers  unknown  before. 
His  was  the  heaven-descended  art 

To  give  fair  knowledge  birth, 
To  mend  the  human  heart, 

And  civilize  the  earth. 

The  sun  of  science  rose, 

And  chased  the  clouds  of  night; 
While  wondering  realms  survey'd, 

Astonish' d  at  the  sight — 
The  social  arts,  in  wisdom's  train, 

With  love  and  peace  advance, 
Teach  man  to  feel  his  fellow's  pain, 

A  brother's  joy  enhance. 
Ours  is  the  heaven-descended  art 

To  give  fair  knowledge  birth, 
To  mend  the  human  heart, 

And  civilize  the  earth. 

Hail,  art  of  arts!  all  hail! 

Thy  praises  mock  the  lyre ; 
To  reach  the  boundless  theme, 

Its  tones  in  vain  aspire ; 


PATRIOTIC.  133 

But  grateful  hearts,  who  feel  the  bliss 

Thy  magic  power  bestows, 
Respond  to  every  strain  like  this, 

How  dull  soe'er  it  flows : 
Our's  is  the  heaven-descended  art, 

To  give  fair  knowledge  birth, 
To  mend  the  human  heart, 

And  civilize  the  earth. 


NEW-YORK. 

As  Freedom's  first-born,  this,  our  happy  land, 
First  in  the  rank  of  nations  still  shall  stand. 
Here  freedom,  learning,  piety,  and  worth, 
Proclaim  our  country  queen  of  all  the  earth ; 
To  whom  such  boundless  stores  of  bliss  are  given, 
As  mark  her  for  the  favoured  child  of  heaven. 
But,  though  each  section  of  our  realm  be  blest, 
There's  one,  to  me,  still  dearer  than  the  rest  „ 
'Tis  that  lov'd  region,  famed  for  arts  and  arms, 
Where  patriot  virtue  every  bosom  warms ; 
Where  Literature  has  reared  her  classic  dome, 
And  heaven-descended  science  finds  a  home ; 
Whose  eldest  city  now  can  proudly  vie 
With  any  rival  'neath  the  western  sky ; 
Whose  towns,  and  hamlets,  villages,  and  farms, 
Are  dress'd  in  art's  and  nature's  richest  charms ; 
While  through  the  whole  extends  that  lucid  chain, 
Which  now  unites  fair  Erie  with  the  main! 
12 


134  MELODIES. 

PRINTING    AND    INDEPENDENCE. 

Air — Rise,  Columbia. 

When,  wrapp'd  in  folds  of  papal  gloom, 
Dark  superstition  awed  the  world, 

Consign'd  fair  knowledge  to  the  tomb, 
And  error's  sable  flag  unfurl'd ; 

Earth  heard  the  mandate  from  the  skies— 

"  Let  there  be  light — great  ART,  arise!" 

Young  Science  wiped  her  tears  and  smiled, 
And  infant  Genius  plumed  his  wing ; 

The  arts  assemble  round  the  child, 
And  all  this  glowing  chorus  sing — 

Rise,  sun  of  science !  quick  arise ! 

And  lend  thy  light  to  darken'd  eyes. 

Our  Art  arose,  and  man  had  light, 

The  clouds  of  superstition  fled, 
The  fiend  of  ignorance  took  his  flight, 

And  Error  hid  his  hateful  head ; 
Whilst  swell'd  this  chorus  to  the  skies — 
"  Our  Art  shall  live,  and  Freedom  rise." 

The  goddess,  who  for  ages  past 
Had  wept  beneath  despotic  night, 

Her  cankering  fetters  burst  at  last, 
And  claim'd  the  charter  of  her  right , 

While  men  and  seraphs  join'd  this  strain-.* 

«  Printing  shall  live,  and  Freedom  reign  n 


PATRIOTIC.  136 

Hail,  Freedom !  hail,  celestial  guest ! 

O  never  from  thy  sons  depart ; 
Thine  be  the  empire  of  the  west, 

Thy  temple  every  freeman's  heart ; 
The  Art  of  Printing  gave  thee  birth, 
And  brightens  still  thy  reign  on  earth. 

Arise,  ye  favour'd  sons  of  light, 
Professors  of  our  heaven-born  ART — 

And  in  the  chorus  all  unite, 

While  joy  expands  the  throbbing  heart; 

"  The  Art  of  Printing  shall  endure, 

"And  Independence  be  secure." 

HARK!    THE   CLAMOROUS   BUGLE. 

He..  .Hark !  the  clamorous  bugle  calls  me, 

Fare  thee  well,  I  must  away ; 
She..  .How,  alas!  the  sound  appals  me! 
Heaven  protect  thee  in  the  fray. 

He Fame  invites  me, 

She Danger  frights  me, 

He Danger  is  the  path  to  fame; 

She Fame  shall  bless  thee ; 

Love  caress  thee, 

He Love  and  glory  gild  my  name. 

She..  .Hark !  again  the  bugle  loudly 

Both Echoes  through  the  leafy  dell; 

Warrior  plumes  are  nodding  proudly ; 
He. . .  Glory  calls  me,  fare  thee  well. 
Both. . .  Fare  thee  well,  love,  fare  thee  well. 


136  MELODIES. 

TYPOGRAPHICAL    ODE. 

Air — Let  Fame  sound  the  trumpet. 

Awake  the  loud  trumpet,  'tis  Freedom  invites, 

Let  heroes  respond  to  the  strain ; 
The  olive  of  peace  with  the  laurel  unites, 

And  music  swells  sweet  o'er  the  plain. 
Thy  birth,  Independence,  by  freemen  be  kept, 

Till  Tyranny's  banner  be  furl'd, 
Till  despots  have  bled,  where  their  victims  have  wept, 

And  Freedom  has  spread  o'er  the  world. 

When  dark  Superstition  had  fetter'd  the  mind, 

And  Reason  in  bondage  was  bound, 
The  goddess  descended  to  ransom  mankind, 

And  Genius  arose  from  the  ground. 
The  PRESS  she  establish'd,  a  pillar  of  fire, 

(While  night's  sable  curtain  was  furl'd,) 
Its  splendour  bade  mystic  delusion  retire, 

And  PRINTING  gave  light  to  the  world. 

The  daring  Columbus  his  canvas  unfurl'd, 

A  nation  arose  in  the  west, 
The  store-house  of  Europe,  a  mart  for  the  world, 

A  home  for  the  poor  and  oppress'd. 
HereFreedom's  bright  temple  effulgent  shall  shine, 

Her  flag  o'er  its  turrets  unfurl'd, 
Our  arms  have  twice  saved  it,  'twill  never  decline 

While  PRINTING  gives  light  to  the  world. 


PATRIOTIC. 

THE   GRAND    CANAL. 

Air — Huzza !  Here's  Columbia  for  ever  ! 

Triumphant !  victorious !  the  rapturous  lay 

The  voice  of  each  freeman  awakes, 
For  Neptune  and  Erie  were  wedded  to-day, 

The  ocean  is  join'd  to  the  lakes. 
'Tis  the  triumph  of  mind  over  matter  we  hail, 

In  pseans  of  rapture  and  praise ; 
The  genius  of  Clinton  will  ever  prevail, 

And  light  the  whole  world  with  its  rays. 
Huzza !  huzza !  huzza !  for  the  work  is  completed. 

The  glory  and  pride  of  our  state. 

The  waters  have  met,  and  they  never  can  part, 

While  the  earth  shall  continue  to  roll ; 
Of  the  universe  now  is  our  city  the  mart, 

And  its  fame  shall  enlighten  the  whole. 
'Tis  the  triumph  of  mind  over  matter  we  hail, 

In  pseans  of  rapture  and  praise, 
The  genius  of  Clinton  will  ever  prevail, 

And  light  the  whole  world  with  its  rays. 
Huzza !  huzza !  huzza !  for  the  work  is  completed, 

The  glory  and  pride  of  the  state. 

CRITICISM. 

To  native  genius  would  you  prove  a  friend, 
Point  out  his  faults,  and  teach  him  how  to  mend. 


138  MELODIES. 

HAIL    TO    THE    ART. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

Hail  to  the  Art,  whose  effulgence  has  brighten'd 

The  darkness  that  shrouded,  for  ages,  the  world ; 
Long  shall  her  sons,  by  its  lustre  enlighten'd, 
Wave  the  bright  banner  which  Freedom  unfurl'd. 

Dark  was  the  human  mind, 

And  hood-wink'd  reason  blind, 
While  Tyranny  gave  to  his  war-steeds  the  rein ; 

Then  Faust  arose  to  bless, 

And  gave  to  man  the  press, 
Free  as  the  billows  of  Neptune's  domain. 

Then  Liberty  roused  from  the  slumber  of  ages, 
And  taught  a  new  nation  to  rise  in  the  west ; 
While  history,  smiling,  unfolded  her  pages, 
And  show'd  the  bright  name  of  Columbia  impress'd. 

Long  fought  her  patriot  band, 

Blood  flow'd  around  the  land, 
Till  liberty  triumph'd  o'er  tyranny's  powers ; 

The  light  which  printing  shed, 

Like  Sol's  effulgence  spread, 
And  glory,  with  bright  Independence,  was  ours. 

Beaming  with  splendour,  from  Liberty's  altar, 

Ascended  the  flame  which  our  art  had  kept  bright, 

When  demons  united  again  to  assault  her, 
Demolish  her  shrine,  and  extinguish  its  light. 


PATRIOTIC.  130 

Hark!  trumpets  sound  alarms; 

Drums,  bugles,  call  to  arms — 
Arouse,  freemen,  rouse !  to  the  field  like  your  sires ' 

Soon  shall  the  foeman  yield, 

Or  fly  the  embattled  field, 
For  Liberty  triumphs  while  Printing  inspires. 

Fwice  have  our  arms  Independence  protected, 

And  twice  haughty  Britain  has  yielded  the  fight ; 
Long  shall  our  valour  and  rights  be  respected, 
Long  shall  the  blaze  of  our  glory  be  bright. 

Then  hail  the  heaven-born  art, 

Which  first  improved  the  heart, 
And  ransom'd  the  mind  from  the  thraldom  of  sense; 

Long  shall  Columbia  bless 

The  free  unshackled  Press, 
Liberty's  ^Egis,  and  Virtue's  defence. 


COLUMBIA. 

Here  freedom  shall  flourish  a  star  in  the  west; 
The  dove  and  the  eagle  together  shall  rest ; 
While  science  shall  glow  with  a  lustre  more  bright, 
And  genius  soar  upwards  on  pinions  of  light. 

The  arts  shall  increase  and  refinement  extend, 
New  graces  to  beauty  shall  piety  lend ; 
The  demon  of  selfishness  shrink  to  his  hole, 
And  the  form  of  each  action  have  use  for  its  soul. 


140  MELODIES. 

PRINTERS'    JUBILEE. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

Hark !  'twas  the  trumpet  of  Freedom  that  sounded, 

Millions  of  voices  respond  to  the  strain, 
Hailing  the  day  when  an  empire  was  founded, 

Firm  as  our  mountains,  and  free  as  the  main ! 
Brightly  the  star  of  its  glory  is  beaming — 

Loudly  the  paeans  of  gladness  arise ; 
Gaily  our  star-spangled  banners  are  streaming ; 
Proudly  our  cannon  are  shaking  the  skies. 
'Tis  Freedom's  Jubilee, 
Then  join  ye  brave  and  free, 
Hail  its  return,  independent  and  blest ! 
Wake  music's  sweetest  voice, 
Long  may  we  thus  rejoice ! 
Hail  to  Columbia,  the  queen  of  the  west ! 

Dark  was  the  gloom  which  her  temple  surrounded, 

Sad  were  the  sighs  that  exhausted  her  breath, 
When,  from  its  deep-vaulted  roof,  first  resounded, 

The  soul  stirring  words — Independence  or  Death  ! 
Franklin,  the  pride  of  our  art  and  the  nation, 

Fixed  on  the  charter  of  glory  his  seal, 
Freemen  confirmed  it,  with  loud  acclamation, 
Heaven  has  sanctioned  the  solemn  appeal. 
Sons  of  the  brightest  art 
Heaven  can  to  man  impart, 
Join  in  the  chorus — our  country  is  blest — 


FATj-aonc.  141 

This  is  her  Jubilee, 
Long  shall  her  sons  be  free ; 
Hail  to  Columbia,  the  queen  of  the  west ! 

Long  wets  the  struggle  for  freedom  and  glory ; 

Fierce  was  the  conflict  our  fathers  sustained ; 
Bright  are  their  actions  emblazoned  in  story: 

Long  may  we  guard  what  their  valour  obtained. 
Hail  to  the  art  which  such  zeal  could  awaken  I 

Long  may  it  flourish,  their  sons  to  inspire  ; 
Freedom  for  ever  the  world  had  forsaken, 
Had  not  the  Press  been  "  a  pillar  of  fire." 
Sons  of  the  brightest  art 
Heaven  can  to  man  impart, 
Join  in  the  chorus — our  country  is  blest ; 
This  is  her  Jubilee — 
Long  may  her  sons  be  free — 
Hail  to  Columbia,  the  queen  of  the  west. 


OUR    COUNTRY. 

Now  Commerce  revives,  and  her  hundred  wheels  roll, 
Our  canvas  is  spread  from  equator  to  pole ; 
Antipodes  gaze  on  our  banner  unfurl'd,  ' 
For  the  course  of  our  eagle  shall  girdle  the  world. 

The  genius  of  plenty  her  office  resumes, 
The  treasures  of  India — Arabia's  perfumes, 
Each  gem  and  each  fruit  that  the  world  can  produce, 
Her  horn  pours  around  for  our  pleasure  or  use. 


142  MELODIES. 

THE    JUBILEE. 

Air — Anacreon  in  heaven. 

While  freedom's  bright  banner  is  waving  unfurl'd, 

And  millions  are  hailing  the  birth  of  a  nation, 
Let  the  voice  of  our  cannon  proclaim  to  the  world 
The  joy  that  we  feel  on  this  grand  celebration. 
Independent  and  free, 
We  swear  still  to  be, 

And  bequeath  to  our  children  this  bright  Jubilee. 
And  millions  unborn  shall  exultingly  say, 
A  nation  of  freemen  was  born  in  a  day. 

But  long  was  the  conflict  our  fathers  sustain'd, 

For  strong  was  the  iron-nerved  arm  of  oppression, 
Till  valour  and  justice  the  victory  gain'd, 

And  wrung  from  the  foe  a  reluctant  concession. 
In  field,  and  on  flood, 
Mid  torrents  of  blood, 

Undaunted,  the  bulwark  of  freedom,  they  stood, 
Till  an  empire  was  founded  that  ne'er  shall  decay, 
When  a  nation  of  freemen  was  born  in  a  day. 

Their  souls  at  no  prospect  of  danger  e'er  quaked, 

In  securing  the  right  of  their  grateful  descendants, 
For  fortune,  existence,  and  honour,  were  staked, 
To  support  the  bold  charter  of  proud  independence. 
They  swore  to  be  free, 
And  the  godlike  decree 
Secures  us  the  bliss  of  this  grand  jubilee. 


PATRIOTIC.  143 

For  an  empire  was  founded  that  ne'er  shall  decay, 
And  a  nation  of  freemen  was  born  in  a  day. 

?he  white  dove  of  peace  with  her  olive  return'd, 
By  science,  and  learning,  and  genius  attended, 
)n  liberty's  altar  new  incense  was  burn'd, 
Where  valour  and  love  were  in  harmony  blended. 
In  union  combin'd, 
They  expanded  the  mind, 
?ill  ocean,  and  rivers,  and  lakes  are  combined. 
Thus  an  empire  is  founded,  that  ne'er  shall  decay, 
Since  a  nation  of  freemen  was  born  in  a  day. 

?hen  wake  the  loud  anthem  in  liberty's  praise, 

While  millions  unite  in  the  grand  celebration, 
Lnd  the  symbols  of  joy  which  our  country  displays, 
Shall  spread  thro'  the  world  a  sublime  emulation. 
Till  happy  and  free, 
All  nations  agree, 
!*o  celebrate  Liberty's  grand  jubilee. 
And  millions  unborn  shall  exultingly  say, 
A  nation  of  freemen  was  born  in  a  day 


OUR    COUNTRY. 

The  names  of  our  heroes,  recorded  by  Fame, 
Shall  glow  in  her  tablets  in  letters  of  flame ; 
And  patriots,  and  sages,  and  bards  yet  unborn, 
With  splendour  as  brilliant  the  page  shall  adorn. 


POEMS. 

EPISTLES,     TALES,    RECITATIONS,    &.O. 

THE   ZODIAC. 

Addressed  to  a  young  lady,  on  New-Year's  Day. 

Dear  Julia — Philosophers  gravely  assert 
That  our  beautiful  world  is  a  spherule  of  dirt, 
That  rolls,  in  a  circuit,  through  regions  of  space, 
And  pas&es,  each  year,  through  the  very  same  place ; 
That  while  it  turns  over,  hy  day  or  by  night, 
We  scarcely  know  whether  we'er  standing  upright; 
But,  yet,  that  our  love  for  it  sticks  us  so  fast, 
We  cannot  fall  off— but  adhere  to  the  last. 

The  truth  of  such  doctrine  I  will  not  dispute, 
Because  I'm  engaged  in  another  pursuit ; 
Besides,  since  I  first  crept  about  this  machine, 
Such  queer  topsy-turvy  manoeuvres  I've  seen, 
That  twenty  to  one  (as  the  learned  have  said) 
But  mortals  are,  half  the  time,  heels  over  head, 
Yet,  still,  as  a  poet,  you  know,  I  am  bound 
To  believe  that  the  sun  always  travels  around 
13 


140  POEMS. 

The  turnpike  of  heaven,  in  chnriot  of  fire, 
Drawn  rapidly  onward  by  steeds  that  ne'er  tire, 
Nor  stop  to  refresh,  tho'  they  pass,  as  they  fly, 
The  signs  of  a  dozen  fine  inns,  in  the  sky. 

When  last  I  address'd  yon,  this  bright  charioteer 
Was  galloping1  on  in  his  brilliant  career, 
The  steeds  from  their  nostrils  still  vomiting  flame, 
As  past  the  next  stage-house  they  rapidly  came. 
Poor  Phoebus  in  vain  might  have  thirsted  for  wine, 
For  nothing  but  water  appeared  on  the  sign: 
So  onward  he  drove  in  the  bright  starry  zone, 
And  left  the  cold  cheerless  Aquarius  alone. 

The  scaly  star,  Pisces,  soon  greeted  his  eye, 
His  old  stopping-place,  if  the  ancients  don't  lie, 
Who  counted  this  stage  as  the  last  on  his  rout, 
Its  sign  is  so  tempting — a  fine  salmon  trout. 
But  soon  the  fierce  steeds  left  it  far  in  the  rear, 
For  another,  that  promised  some  mutton,  was  near; 
That  Ram  which  had  once  a  fair  rider  upon't, 
And  let  her  fall  plump  in  the  famed  Hellespont ; 
The  crooked-horn  Aries,  whose  rich  golden  fleece 
Was  carried  by  Jason,  in  triumph,  to  Greece, 
Was  the  sign  that  invited  the  driver  to  bait, 
But  nothing,  it  seems,  could  induce  him  to  wait ; 
A  crack  of  his  whip,  and  the  mettlesome  steeds 
Start  forward  like  lightning,  while  Aries  recedes. 

But  Phoebus,  'tis  said,  when  he  saw  the  next  sign> 
Was  almost  determin'd  to  stop  and  to  dine ; 


EPISTLES.  147 

For  the  golden-horn'd  Bull,  which  so  gallantly  bore 
The  lovely  Europa  to  Crete's  happy  shore, 
Invitingly  promised,  for  hunger's  relief, 
A  fine  smoking  sirloin  of  English  roast  beef. 

Apollo,  however,  regardless  of  inns, 
Drove  onward,  nor  even  accosted  the  Twins, 
Those  famous  Tyndarian  brothers,  that  dwell, 
By  changes  alternate,  in  heaven  or  hell ; 
The  comrades  of  Jason  in  winning  the  fleece, 
Whose  smiles,  it  is  said,  lull  the  tempest  to  peace, 
If  sailors  sincerely  their  favours  invoke, 
To  save  from  the  wreck  which  the  billows  have  broke. 
Behind  were  the  Crab  and  the  Lion  afar, 
As  well  as  the  Virgin,  Engone's  star ; 
Astrea's  bright  balance  now  glow'd  on  his  sight, 
It  trembled — he  threw  in  a  handful  of  light, 
And  finding  the  darkness  just  equall'd  the  day, 
He  whipp'd  up  his  horses,  and  posted  away. 
The  Scorpion  and  Centaur  he  rapidly  pass'd, 
And  Pan,  his  old  friend,  he  saluted  at  last ; 
For  his  steeds,  at  the  moment  these  verses  were  wrote, 
Was  galloping  up  to  the  sign  of  the  Goat. 
In  pure  native  English,  your  minstrel  would  say, 
That  another  New-Year  is  commencing  to-day. 

Dear  Julia,  may  blessings  attend  its  return, 
While  life's  little  taper  continues  to  burn ; 
And  then,  when  the  last  welcome  summons  you  hear. 
May  you  wake  to  a  happy,  thrice  happy  New  Year. 


148  EPISTLES. 

TO    A    YOUNG    LADY, 

With  a  miniature  volume  of  Montgomery's  Poems,  as 
published  in  Boston,  1807. 

[A    JUVENILE    PRODUCTION.] 

Accept,  lovely  maiden,  this  little  bequest, 

An  advocate  certain  my  suit  to  obtain ; 
To  the  generous,  feeling,  susceptible  breast, 

The  muse  of  MONTGOMERY  plead  not  in  vain. 

And  when  that  sweet  eye  of  cerulean  hue, 
Drops  the  warm  tear  of  pity  for  virtue  distressed, 

Then  think  of  the  donor,  whose  sympathy  true, 
The  number  thou  shed'st  will  engrave  on  his  breast. 

While  Switzerland's  Wanderer  draws  on  the  heart 
For  the  tribute  which  sentiment  e'er  must  bestow; 

Then  think  of  thy  friend,  in  a  far  distant  part, 
A  Wanderer  press'd  with  his  portion  of  wo. 

And  when  o'er  the  Grave  thou  art  bending  with  pain, 
But  a  pain  not  unmingled  with  pensive  delight, 

Let  one  gem  of  pity  be  shed  for  the  swain 

Who  is  buried  to  pleasure,  when  banished  thy  sight. 

While  the  tones  of  the  Lyre  brighten  sadness  to  joy, 
And  thou  hearest  with  rapture  its  solacing  lays, 

Remember  the  youth  whose  delightful  employ 
Is  to  sing  to  his  lyre  while  it  warbles  thy  praise. 


TO  A  LADY.  149 

The  Remonstrance  to  Winter  is  heard  and  obeyed, 
And  Flora  unfolds  every  beautiful  hue  ; 

But  remember,  tho'  nature  in  spring  is  arrayed, 
To  me  all  is  winter  while  absent  from  you. 

The  Fowler's  simplicity  cannot  but  please, 
Religion  has  beauties  that  never  decay ; 

E'en  Grief  'has  its  Joy,  and  anguish  finds  ease, 
In  listening  to  pious  Montgomery's  lay. 

Alexandria's  Battle  admire,  not  approve, 

But  haste  from  the  scene  to  the  Pillow  for  rest ; 

On  the  pinion  of  fancy  then  pensively  rove, 
But  let  thy  friend's  image  still  dwell  in  thy  breast. 

View  Brown  with  compassion,  breathe  pity's  soft  sigh, 

For  sorrows  unmerited,  cruel,  unjust ; 
But  smile  on  the  Thunder-storm  rolling  on  high, 

'Tis  the  voice  of  thy  God,  but  he  wars  not  with  dust- 
Hail  the  brave  Volunteers  of  Albion's  isle, 

And  cherish  the  patriot  glow  in  thy  breast ; 
St.  Mark's  ancient  Vigil  a  tear  may  beguile, 

Thy  friend  then  remember,  like  Edwin  distressed. 

Remember  thy  friend — is  the  donor's  request, 
And  this  Advocate  proffers  his  suit  to  obtain ; 

To  the  generous,  feeling,  susceptible  breast, 
The  muse  of  Montgomery  pleads  not  in  vain. 


13* 


150  POEMS. 

THE    SEASON'S. 

To  the  same,  with  a  volume  of  Thompson's  Seasons. 

Julia — each  season  of  the  changeful  year, 
In  every  stage  of  fleeting  time's  career, 
Comes  with  a  wreath  of  joy  around  it  thrown, 
Some  bliss,  peculiar  to  itself  alone ; 
For  Heaven,  throughout  creation's  wondrous  plan, 
Has  had  but  one  end — the  happiness  of  man. 

Pregnant  with  buds  and  flowers,  the  Spring  appears, 
Like  a  young  bride,  arrayed  in  smiles  and  tears; 
Then  sweetest  odours  float  on  every  breeze, 
And  new-made  liveries  clothe  the  sturdy  trees ; 
Each  bush  and  shrub  a  verdant  garb  assumes, 
The  apple  blossoms,  and  the  lilac  blooms ; 
A  thousand  flowerets  in  the  meadow  spring, 
And  feathered  choirs  their  grateful  anthems  sing; 
While  vallies,  hills,  and  woods,  in  rich  array, 
Hail,  with  delight,  the  bright  return  of  May. 

Then  Summer  comes,  the  noontide  of  the  year, 
When  the  sun  gallops  in  his  full  career  ; 
She  comes — her  brows  with  yellow  wheat-ears  crown'd, 
Her  laughing  face  by  heat  and  toil  embrown'd ; 
She  comes  with  full  and  bounteous  hand  to  bring 
Ah1  that  was  promised  by  the  hopeful  Spring. 
'Tis  then  the  long  protracted  sultry  day 
Perfects  the  embryon  blossoms  on  each  spray ; 


EPISTLES.  151 

Bids  the  young  fruit  with  richest  juices  teem, 
And  blush  and  ripen  in  the  solar  beam ; 
Then  scarlet  strawberries  court  the  eager  taste, 
And  luscious  melons  yield  a  sweet  repast ; 
While  nectarious  berries  of  each  varied  dye, 
On  every  buth  and  bramble  greet  the  eye. 

Next,  temperate  Autumn  comes  upon  the  stage, 
The  sober  mean  'twixt  vigorous  youth  and  age ; 
The  evening  twilight  of  the  fading  year, 
When  objects  all  in  mellowest  tints  appear; 
When  feathered  songsters  cease  their  tuneful  notes, 
And  liveried  groves  appear  with  yellow  coats  ; 
The  fruit-trees  then,  with  golden  burdens  bend, 
And  clustering  grapes  from  shadowy  vines  impend ; 
Pomona's  treasures  lie  in  heaps  around, 
Scattered  in  rich  profusion  on  the  ground  ; 
From  juicy  apples,  tortured  in  the  mill, 
Sweet  streams  of  grateful  beverage  distil ; 
While  ponderous  wagons  every  field  displays, 
Groaning  beneath  their  loads  of  ripened  maize. 

Winter  succeeds,  with  snow-wreaths  on  his  brow— 
Julia,  I  feel  his  icy  fingers  now  ! 
Winter  succeeds — the  midnight  of  the  year, 
And  all  the  fields  are  barren,  cold,  and  drear  ; 
He  binds  the  streams  and  lakes  in  silver  chains, 
And  hoary  frost  has  candied  all  the  plains ; 
The  liveried  trees  their  yellow  coats  forego, 
And  shivering  stand,  in  shrouds  of  frozen  snow  ; 


152  POEMS. 

While  the  chill' d  sap  leaves  succorless  the  shoot, 
And  shrinks  below,  to  cheer  the  dying  root. 

Nor  is  stern  Winter's  icy  sceptre  swayed 
O'er  sylvan  scenes  alone — his  shafts  invade 
Our  splendid  city,  too— and  every  street 
Is  rendered  cheerless  by  his  pointed  sleet ; 
For  every  arrow  from  the  centaur's  bow, 
Is  tipt  with  ice,  and  feathered,  too,  with  snow. 
The  Battery,  now,  each  verdant  charm  has  lost, 
And  e'en  the  Park  is  silvered  o'er  with  frost ; 
Vauxhall  and  Castle- Garden,  late  so  gay, 
Where  night  gave  place  to  artificial  day, 
Are  now  deserted — even  Chatham  mourns, 
And  all  must  droop  till  gentle  Spring  returns. 

But  still,  amid  his  tempest's  rude  alarms, 
Still  Winter  brings  his  own  redeeming  charms ; 
Pleasures  to  no  preceding  season  known, 
Delights  peculiar  to  himself  alone. 
His  gelid  breath  (a  healthful  vapour,  which 
Screws  up  this  living  lyre  to  concert-pitch) 
Enriches  every  fluid,  and  preserves 
An  equal  tension  of  the  chords  and  nerves. 
Elastic  as  the  air,  our  spirits  soar, 
By  heat  and  languor  now  depressed  no  more ; 
While  health  and  vigour  wanton  through  our  veins, 
And  drive  each  azure  demon  from  the  brains. 

But  that  blest  space  between  the  day  and  night, 
A  winter's  evening,  gives  the  most  delight ; 


EPISTLES.  153 

Sacred  to  friendship,  love,  and  social  mirth, 

When  kindred  souls  surround  the  blazing  hearth, 

Where  wine,  and  wit,  and  sentiment  abound, 

And  modest  jests  and  repartees  go  round. 

Or  if  the  same  domestic  happy  group, 

Adjourn  to  hear  our  new  Italian  troupe;* 

Or  gaze  intensely  on  the  tragic  scene, 

When  Conway,  Cooper,  Hamblin,  Booth,  or  Kean, 

Pours  a  bright  flood  of  wonder  o'er  their  minds, 

And  in  his  train  the  captive  stranger  binds ; — 

Whether  they  join  in  laughing  with  the  pit, 

At  Barnes's  humour,  or  at  Hilson's  wit ; 

Tremble  at  base  lago's  cruel  hate, 

Or  mourn  for  lovely  Belvidera' s  fate ; 

Or  weep,  at  Chatham,  for  poor  Blanche's  grief, 

Inflicted  by  Clan  Alpine's  desperate  chief; 

And  then,  in  pleased  and  breathless  silence,  hear 

The  requiem  chanted  o'er  his  silent  bier  ; 

Or  with  the  brave  Fitz-James,  admiring  view, 

Fair  Ellen  guide  her  little  frail  canoe ; 

Or  view  the  Ethiop,  from  the  Turkish  tomb, 

Rise  like  a  troubled  spirit  through  the  gloom ; 

Or  should  they  mingle  in  the  mazy  dance, 

Where  hearts  bound  quick  at  beauty's  tender  glance, 

:Tis  still  domestic  bliss,  wher  e'er  they  roam, 

For  every  place,  to  kindred  hearts,  is  home. 

But  Winter's  brightest  joy,  in  towns  like  this, 
Is  yet  unsung — I  mean  that  scene  of  bliss 

*  This  Epistle  was  written  on  Christmas  Eve,  1825. 


154  POEMS. 

To  which  our  annual  holy-days  give  birth, 
A  foretaste  of  Elysium  here  on  earth  ! 
That  period  to  generous  hearts  so  dear, 
That  little  week  of  joy  that  shuts  the  year, 
And  brings  to  light  the  bright  auspicious  morn, 
When  all  unite  to  hail  a  New-Year  born ! 

In  all  my  wanderings  thro'  this  vale  of  tears, 
From  infancy,  to  manhood's  riper  years, 
Whatever  pains  assail'd,  or  griefs  oppress'd, 
Christmas  and  New- Year  always  saw  me  blesi! 
A  lengthened  absence  o'er,  how  pleasant,  then, 
The  friends  I  dearest  love  to  meet  again  ! 
Grasp  the  warm  hand,  or  share  the  fond  embrace, 
And  see  new  smiles  lit  up  in  every  face ! 
'Twas  Christmas  eve !  the  supper  board  was  spread, 
The  fire  blazed  high,  with  logs  of  hickory  fed  ; 
The  candles,  too,  unusual  lustre  lent, 
Candles  expressly  made  for  this  event. 
Old  tales  were  told,  the  cheerful  glass  went  round, 
While  peals  of  laughter  made  the  cot  resound. 
A  thousand  welcomes  hail'd  the  truant  boy, 
And  swift  the  moments  flew  on  wings  of  joy; 
Till  (as  they  thought,  too  soon)  the  hour  of  prayer 
Bade  the  young  urchins  to  their  beds  repair. 
But  first  the  stocking,  from  each  little  leg, 
Must  be  suspended  to  a  hook  or  peg, 
That   Santaclaus,  who  travels  all  the  night, 

Might,  in  the  dark,  bestow  his  favours  right ; 

\ 


EPISTLES.  155 

These  rites  observed,  they  take  a  parting  kiss, 
And  go  to  dream  of  morning's  promised  bliss ! 
Thus  did  a  week  of  festive  pleasures  roll, 
Till  New- Year's  happy  morning  crown'd  the  whole. 

But  though  long  past  are  days  and  joys  so  dear, 
Others  as  sweet  still  crown  each  fleeting  year ; 
E'en  brighter  pleasures,  now,  'tis  mine  to  prove, 
In  Julia's  friendship,  and  my  Lydia's  love. 
While  our  gay  prattlers,  innocent  as  young, 
Re-act  the  drama  here  so  coldly  sung, 
Accept  this  token  of  my  pure  regard, 
The  Seasons,  sung  by  an  immortal  bard, 
The  peerless  THOMPSON  ;  hear  his  rural  strains, 
And  you'll  forget  that  blustering  winter  reigns ; 
Accept  this  tribute  of  a  heart  sincere, 
And  be  you  happy  many  a  future  year. 


FASHIONS. 

Addressed  to  my  friend,  G.  P.  Morris,  Esq. 

How  fashions  change  in  this  inconstant  world ! 

Powder  and  queues  held  undisputed  sway 
When  I  was  young ;  anon,  the  hair  was  curl'd, 

And,  after  that,  the  top-knot  had  its  day. 

The  last,  I  understand,  has  given  way 
To  Saunders'  plain-cropt  crown.     So  much  for  men — 

The  ladies — bless  their  pretty  faces ! — may 
Recount  a  thousand  changes  to  our  ten. 


156  POEMS. 

There  were  the  huge  crape  cushion,  hoop,  and  stays, 
To  go  no  further  back; — my  mother  wore  them 

Before  her  marriage; — and,  in  after  days, 

I've  heard  her  wish  that  fashion  might  restore  them 

Short  waists,  and  long,  have  had  alternate  sway, 

Since  hoops  were  banished,  to  the  present  day. 

And  I  have  prized  them  all — for  I  confess, 

'Tis  my  opinion,  that  the  virtuous  fair, 
While  they  derive  no  one  new  charm  from  dress, 

Impart  a  charm  to  every  dress  they  wear. 

But  Fashion's  freaks,  we  know,  are  not  confined 

To  the  habiliments  her  votaries  wear ; 
She  even  dictates  to  the  immortal  MIND, 

And  deigns  to  take  beneath  her  tender  care 
Celestial  genius,  fancy,  taste,  and  wit, 
And  e'en  religion,  too,  must  oft  submit ; 
For  since  great  Johnson  frown'd  upon  dissenters, 
'Tis  the  established  church  that  Fashion  enters ; 
And  were  eachpm  a  diamond,  she'd  not  take  one,. 
Because  the  Doctor  had  not  wit  to  make  one; 
Just  as  the  fox  condemn'd  the  grapes  as  sour* 
Because  he  found  them  not  within  his  pow'r. 

Mark  but  the  movements  of  the  goddess,  through 
A  few  short  years : — Moore's  Lyrics  were  in 

Till  Byron's  vision  burst  upon  the  view, 

Scattering,  from  demon  wings,  a  storm  of  passion. 


EPISTLES.  157 

Then  fashion  taught  her  votaries  to  adore 

The  idol  which  tempestuous  clouds  environ, 
And  left  the  sweet  elysian  fields  of  Moore, 

To  wander  o'er  the  Upas  realms  of  Byron, 
With  bones  of  human  victims  covered  o'er, 
Or  to  the  snow-capt  mountain  trembling  soar, 
Where  huge  volcanoes  vomit  quenchless  flame, 
Fierce  as  his  soul,  and  brilliant  as  his  fame. 

Scott  was,  awhile,  the  star  of  the  ascendant, 
(If  Scott  wrote  Waverly  and  Kenilworth,) 
And  dazzled  with  a  glory  as  resplendent 
As  ever  beam'd  upon  the  moral  earth 
Since  Shakspeare  lived,  whose  magic  pen 
Explored  the  very  souls  of  men : 
Like  his,  for  painting  character  and  passion, 
The  muse  of  Waverly  was  long  in  fashion. 

With  all  such  changes  in  proud  Albion's  clime, 

Allowing,  say  a  month,  for  transportation, 
Their  humble  parasites  have  here  kept  time, 

In  dress  and  morals,  taste  and  conversation. 
'Tis  true,  our  wondrous  spirit  of  invention 

Has  added  to  the  stock  of  information, 
And  there  are  some  improvements  I  could  mention, 

That  add  new  lustre  to  our  reputation. 

Awhile  ago,  and  Greece  was  all  the  rage, 
That  is,  we  felt  enraged  against  the  Turks, 

And  every  daily  paper  had  a  page 
Filled  up  entirely  with  their  bloody  works, 
14 


158  POEMS. 

With  battles,  massacres,  heroic  deeds, 

And  self-devotedness  of  patriot  men, 
And  cruelties  at  which  the  bosom  bleeds, 

When  memory  calls  the  picture  back  again. 
Wives,  mothers,  maids,  compelled  to  slay  themselves, 
Or  yield  to  these  infernal  turban'd  elves. 

One  general  burst  of  honest  indignation 

Was  heard  throughout  the  land ;  our  public  halls 
Echoed  to  strains  of  lofty  declamation, 

Or  sweeter  strains  of  riddles — for  our  balls, 
And  every  other  pastime,  were  intended 
To  aid  the  cause  which  Grecian  arms  defended. 
To  save  their  sisters  from  such  cruel  foes, 

Our  patriot  ladies  danced  with  ceaseless  ardour, 
As  some  say  masses  for  the  sake  of  those 

Whose  destiny  below  is  somewhat  harder. 
Whole  families  were  doomed  to  starve  for  weeks, 

(Who  had  no  banker  whom  to  draw  for  cash  on,) 
For  splendid  dresses  worn  to  aid  the  Greeks ! 

But,  recollect,  the  Greeks  were  then  in  fashion. 

Fayette,  who  help'd  to  make  Columbia  free, 

The  man  whom  free-born  millions  now  revere, 
Great  La  Fayette,  the  friend  of  Liberty, 

Has  been  in  fashion  more  than  half  a  year  ; 
And  will  be  so  for  centuries,  no  doubt, 

For  millions  yet  unborn  shall  shout  his  name, 
And  seek  the  dangerous  path  he  singled  out 

To  reach  the  summit  of  immortal  fame. 


EPISTLES.  15? 

Canals  are  much  in  vogue  at  present,  though 

'Twas  once  the  fashion  to  oppose  them; 
From  Maine  to  Georgia  now,  they're  all  the  go, 

And  half  her  real  wealth  Columbia  owes  them. 
E'en  Darien,  whose  adamantine  throne 

Still  dares  two  kindred  oceans  to  divide, 
Is  doom'd  to  see  its  empire  overthrown, 

And  commerce  o'er  its  ruins  proudly  ride. 

But  there's  one  fashion  I  must  not  forget 

On  this  occasion — one  that's  worth  commending, 
And  justly  venerated,  you'll  admit, 

For  its  antiquity ; — 'tis  that  of  sending 
To  some  one  we  esteem  on  New- Year's  day 
A  short,  familiar,  tributary  lay, 

Such  as  I  now  address  to  you, 
Deficient  both  in  sentiment  and  passion, 

But  ending  with  kind  wishes,  warm  and  true — 
Accept  it,  George — for  I  must  be  in' fashion. 

May  every  bliss  that  heaven  can  give  be  yours, 
While  the  brief  term  of  human  life  endures; 
Domestic  joys,  a  moderate  share  of  wealth, 
Contented  mind,  vivacity,  and  health; 
Friends  that  are  faithful,  able,  and  refined, 
Children  obedient — consort  true  and  kind; 
The  will  and  means  the  child  of  want  to  save, 
And  thus  secure  a  fund  beyond  the  grave. 
If  these  be  yours,  there  cannot  be  a  fear 
But  you  will  hail  with  joy  the  infant  year. 


160  TALES  AND 

TIT   FOR  TAT, 

OR,    THE    COQUETTE    PUNISHED. 

Ellen  was  fair,  and  kntw  it  too, 
As  other  village  beauties  do 

Whose  mirrors  never  lie ; 
Secure  of  any  swain  she  chose, 
She  smiled  on  half  a  dozen  heaux, 
And,  reckless  of  a  lover's  woes, 
She  cheated  these,  and  taunted  those ; 
<(  For  how  could  any  one  suppose 

"  A  clown  could  take  her  eye  ?" 

But  whispers  through  the  village  ran, 
That  Edgar  was  the  happy  man 

The  maid  design'd  to  bless ; 
For  wheresoever  moved  the  fair, 
The  youth  was,  like  her  shadow,  there, 
And  rumour  boldly  match' d  the  pair, 

For  village  folks  will  guess. 

Edgar  did  love,  but  still  delay'd 
To  make  confession  to  the  maid, 

So  bashful  was  the  youth  ; 
But  let  the  flame  in  secret  burn, 
Certain  of  meeting  a  return, 
When,  from  his  lips,  the  fair  should  learn, 

Officially,  the  truth. 


RECITATIONS.  161 

At  length,  one  morn,  to  taste  the  air, 
The  youth  and  maid,  in  one  horse  chair, 

A  long  excursion  took. 
Edgar  had  nerved  his  bashful  heart 
The  sweet  confession  to  impart, 
For  ah !  suspense  had  caused  a  smart 

He  could  no  longer  brook. 

He  drove,  nor  slackened  once  his  reins, 
Till  Hempstead's  wide  extended  plains 

Seem'd  join'd  to  skies  above ; 
Nor  house,  nor  tree,  nor  shrub  was  near, 
The  rude  and  dreary  scene  to  cheer, 
Nor  soul  within  ten  miles  to  hear — 
And  still  poor  Edgar's  silly  fear 

Forbade  to  speak  of  love. 

At  last,  one  desperate  effort  broke 
The  bashful  spell,  and  Edgar  spoke 

With  most  persuasive  tone ; 
Recounted  past  attendance  o'er, 
And  then,  by  all  that's  lovely,  swore 
That  he  would  love  for  evermore, 

If  she'd  become  his  own. 

The  maid,  in  silence,  heard  his  prayer, 
Then,  with  a  most  provoking  air, 

She  tittered  in  his  face ; 
And  said,  "  'Tis  time  for  you  to  know 
"  A  lively  girl  must  have  a  beau, 

14* 


162  TALES  AND 

"  Just  like  a  reticule — for  show ; 
"  And  at  her  nod  to  come  and  go — 

"  But  he  should  know  his  place. 
"  Your  penetration  must  be  dull, 
"  To  let  a  hope  within  your  skull 

"  Of  matrimony  spring. 
"  Your  wife !  ha,  ha !  upon  my  word, 
"The  thought  is  laughably  absurd 
"  As  any  thing  I  ever    heard — 
"  I  never  dream' d  of  such  a  thing." 

The  lover  sudden  dropp'd  his  rein, 
Now  on  the  centre  of  the  plain — 

" The  linch-pin's  out !"  he  cried; 
"  Be  pleased,  one  moment,  to  alight, 
"  Till  I  can  set  the  matter  right, 

"  That  we  may  safely  ride." 

He  said,  and  handed  out  the  fair — 
Then  laughing,  crack'd  his  whip  in  air, 
And  wheeling  round  his  horse  and  chair, 
Exclaim'd,  "  Adieu,  I  leave  you  there 

"  In  solitude  to  roam." 
"  What  mean  you,  sir !"  the  maiden  cried, 
"  Did  you  invite  me  out  to  ride 
"  To  leave  me  here  without  a  guide  ? 

"Nay,  stop,  and  take  me  home." 

"  What !  take  you  home  ?"  exclaimed  the  beau, 
"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I'd  like  to  know 


RECITATIONS.  163 

"  How  such  a  hopeless  wish  could  grow, 

"  Or  in  your  bosom  spring? 
"  Take  Ellen  home !  upon  my  word, 
{t  The  thought's  as  laughably  absurd 
"  As  any  thing  I  ever  heard — 

"I  never  dream'd  of  such  a  thing." 


THE    WHISKERS. 

The  kings,  who  rule  mankind  with  haughty  sway, 
The  prouder  pope,  whom  even  kings  obey — 
Love,  at  whose  shrine  both  popes  and  monarchs  fall, 
And  e'en  self-interest,  that  controls  them  all — 
Possess  a  petty  power,  when  all  combined, 
Compared  with  fashion's  influence  on  mankind ; 
For  love  itself  will  oft  to  fashion  bow, 
The  following  story  will  convince  you  how : 

A  petit  maitre  wooed  a  fair, 
Of  virtue,  wealth,  and  graces  rare ; 
But  vainly  had  preferr'd  his  claim, 
The  maiden  own'd  no  answering  flame ; 
At  length,  by  doubt  and  anguish  torn, 
Suspense,  too  painful  to  be  borne, 
Low  at  her  feet  he  humbly  kneel'd, 
And  thus  his  ardent  flame  reveal'd : 

"  Pity  my  grief,  angelic  fair, 
Behold  my  anguish  and  despair ; 


164  TALES  AND 

* 

For  you  this  heart  must  ever  burn — 
O  bless  me  with  a  kind  return  ; 
My  love  no  language  can  express, 
Reward  it  then  with  happiness ; 
Nothing  on  earth  but  you  I  prize, 
All  else  is  trifling  in  my  eyes ; 
And  cheerfully  would  I  resign 
The  wealth  of  worlds,  to  call  you  mine* 
But,  if  another  gain  your  hand, 
Far  distant  from  my  native  land, 
Far  hence,  from  you  and  hope,  I'll  fly, 
And  in  some  foreign  region  die." 

The  virgin  heard,  and  thus  replied  : 
"  If  my  consent  to  be  your  bride 
Will  make  you  happy,  then  be  blest, 
But  grant  me  first  one  small  request ; 
A  sacrifice  I  must  demand, 
And  in  return  will  give  my  hand." 

"  A  sacrifice !  O  speak  its  name, 
For  you  I'd  forfeit  wealth  and  fame ; 
Take  my  whole  fortune — every  cent — ' 
"  'Twas  something  more  than  wealth  I  meant." 
"  Must  I  the  realms  of  Neptune  trace? 
O  speak  the  word — where'er  the  place, 
For  you,  the  idol  of  my  soul, 
I'd  e'en  explore  the  frozen  pole  ; 
Arabia's  sandy  desert  tread, 
Or  trace  the  Tigris  to  its  head." 


RECITATIONS.  165 

"  O  no,  dear  sir,  I  do  not  ask 
So  long  a  voyage,  so  long  a  task ; 
You  must — but  ah !  the  boon  I  want, 

I  have  no  hope  that  you  will  grant." 

, 

"  Shall  I,  like  Bonaparte,  aspire 
To  be  the  world's  imperial  sire  ? 
Express  the  wish,  and  here  I  vow, 
To  place  a  crown  upon  your  brow." 

"  Sir,  these  are  trifles" — she  replied— 
"  But  if  you  wish  me  for  your  bride, 
You  must — but  still  I  fear  to  speak — 
You'll  never  grant  the  boon  I  seek." 

'''     -     '    '  .-:'      >    -     •     ,'         ,        ' 

"O  say !"  he  cried — "  dear  angel  say — 
What  I  must  do,  and  I  obey ; 
No  longer  rack  me  with  suspense, 
Speak  your  commands,  and  send  me  hence." 

"  Well, then, dear  generous  youth!"  she  cries, 
"  If  thus  my  heart  you  really  prize, 
And  wish  to  link  your  fate  with  mine, 
On  one  condition  I  am  thine ; 
'Twill  then  become  my  pleasing  duty, 
To  contemplate  a  husband's  beauty  ; 
And  gazing  on  his  manly  face, 
His  feelings  and  his  wishes  trace ; 
To  banish  thence  each  mark  of  care, 
And  light  a  smile  of  pleasure  there. 


166  TALES  AND 

O  let  me  then,  'tis  all  I  ask, 

Commence  at  once  the  pleasing  task ; 

O  let  me,  as  becomes  my  place, 

Cut  those  huge  whiskers  from  your  face." 

She  said— but  O,  what  strange  surprise 
Was  pictured  in  her  lover's  eyes ! 
Like  lightning  from  the  ground  he  sprung, 
While  wild  amazement  tied  his  tongue ; 
A  statue,  motionless,  he  gazed, 
Astonish'd,  horror-struck,  amazed. 
So  look'd  the  gallant  Perseus,  when 
Medusa's  visage  met  his  ken ; 
So  look'd  Macbeth,  whose  guilty  eye 
Discern'd  an  "air  drawn  dagger"  nigh; 
And  so  the  prince  of  Denmark  stared, 
When  first  his  father's  ghost  appeared. 

At  length  our  hero  silence  broke, 
And  thus  in  wildest  accents  spoke  : 
"  Cut  off  my  whiskers !  O  ye  gods ! 
I'd  sooner  lose  my  ears,   by  odds; 
Madam,  I'd  not  be  so  disgraced, 
So  lost  to  fashion  and  to  taste, 
To  win  an  empress  to  my  arms, 
Though  blest  with  more  than  mortal  charms. 
My  whiskers!  Zounds!"  He  said  no  more, 
But  quick  retreated  through  the  door, 
And  sought  a  less  obdurate  fair, 
To  take  the  beau  with  all  his  hair. 


RECITATIONS.  167 

THE    EXPERT    FRISEUR. 

The  other  day,  a  certain  beau, 
Before  he  could  a  courting  go, 
Must  needs  be  dress'd ;  so  off  he  flew 
To  the  first  shop  that  met  his  view ; 
"  Come,  barber,"  he  exclaimes  in  haste, 
"  Display  for  once  a  little  taste, 
Exert  your  powers,  and  don't  be  stupid. 
But  make  me  pretty  as  a  Cupid. 
Consult  my  visage  now  with  care, 
And  to  my  looks  adapt  my  hair." 
The  man,  a  master  of  his  trade, 
His  best  abilities  display'd ;  .    ,• 

And  Cupid  from  his  chair  arose, 
A  finished  beauty,  we  suppose; 
Approach'd  the  glass,  his  visage  spied, 
Then  turning  to  the  barber,  cried — 
"  Is  this  your  boasted  taste  ? — for  shame ! 
Such  dressing  don't  deserve  the  name ; 
My  head,  with  all  these  curls  and  plaster, 
Looks  like  the  very  devil,  master." 
The  barber,  in  a  humble  tone, 
Replied,  "  Dear  sir,  the  fault's  your  own, 
You  bade  me  view  your  face  with  care, 
And  to  your  looks  adapt  your  hair." 


O  be  a  man,  and  let  proud  reason  tread 
In  triumph  on  each  rebel  passion's  head. 


168  TALES  AND 

THE   HARD-HEARTED   LANDLORD. 

In  Ormond's  garret,  near  proud  Hudson's  stream, 
Resided  once  a  fond  contented  pair: 
The  youthful  Edwin,  just  in  wedlock  join'd 
To  the  dear  object  of  his  boyish  love, 
The  fair  Amelia.     Though  their  humble  hopes 
Were  bounded  by  necessity's  demand, 
They  were  but  barely  realized ;  and  want 
Would  sometimes  knock,  but  never  dared  intrude. 
Yet  still  industry,  by  affection  urged, 
With  frugal  management,  and  sprightly  health, 
Secured  them  comfort  and  domestic  peace ; 
Eadi  homely  meal  receiving  higher  zest, 
From  being  earn'd  before  it  was  enjoy'd. 

One  year  roll'd  round,  and  in  their  favour  left 
A  trifling  balance,  after  all  demands 
Were  satisfied  with  scrupulous  exactness. 
Sacred  treasure !  for  one  fond  event 
Now  hastening  on,  the  consecrated  boon 
Was  joyfully  reserved;  while  smiling  hope 
Lent  double  vigour  to  the  daily  task 
Which  fed  the  pair,  and  saved  the  little  fund. 

But,  ah !  relentless  fate  had  woes  in  store 
Unmerited  by  virtue  such  as  theirs. 
The  tender  moment,  destined  to  complete 
Their  little  plan  of  happiness,  arrived  i 
But  only  came  to  blast  their  fondest  hopes. 


RECITATIONS.  169 

The  poor  Amelia,  after  nameless  pangs, 
That  push'd  her  to  the  precipice  of  fate, 
And  left  her  trembling  on  its  dizzy  verge, 
Usher'd  to  light,  but  not  to  life,  a  babe. 

Edwin,  distracted,  o'er  the  sufferer  hung, 
As  though  his  loved  Amelia's  wasting  life 
Was  with  the  web  of  his  existence  wove. 
Night  after  night,  and  day  succeeding  day, 
His  eyes  estranged  from  sleep,  his  frame  from  rest, 
He  watch'd  her  fading  form,  and  by  her  couch, 
Entranced  in  speechless  agony,  remained. 

Physicians,  nurses,  nostrums,  fuel,  food, 
And  all  the  nameless  calls  of  sickness,  soon 
Exhausted  Edwin's  little  frugal  store, 
And  nought  but  want,  disease,  and  deep  despair, 
Remain'd  the  inmates  of  his  drear  abode. 
The  few  utensils  of  domestic  use 
Their  humble  means  afforded,  one  by  one, 
Were  sacrificed  to  stern  relentless  want ; 
Till  the  poor  couch  on  which  Amelia  lay 
(The  scene  of  all  his  joys  and  all  his  woes) 
Alone  remain'd  of  Edwin's  worldly  wealth. 

'Twas  at  this  crisis,  while  the  husband  stood, 
Absorb'd  in  grief,  beside  the  senseless  fair, 
His  landlord  entered.     Ormond,  who  could  count 
The  annual  tribute  of  an  hundred  rents ; 
Ormond,  whose  coffers  groan'd  with  their  contents, 
15 


170  TALES  AND 

Came  to  demand  the  recent  quarter's  due ! 

The  heart-broke  mourner  raised  his  humid  eyes 

And  threw  them  round  the  desolated  room. 

Then,  pointing  to  the  melancholy  bed, 

Bade  savage  Ormond  view  his  little  all. 

"  Ha!  swindling  wretch!"  the  human  monster  cried, 

"  Your  goods  embezzled,  and  myself  unpaid ! 

Thus  every  year  some  cursed  loss  like  this 

Have  I  to  meet:  but  you  shall  not  escape." 

"  Forbear!"  cries  Edwin,  "  and  respect  my  grief! 

This  scene  is  sacred  to  despair  and  silence. 

Let  me  but  catch  Amelia's  parting  breath, 

Close  her  dear  eyes,  and  give  a  farewell  kiss, 

Then,  wretch !  dispose  of  Edwin  as  you  please." 

"  What  little  your  dishonesty  has  left," 

Ormond  replies,  "this  moment  shall  secure; 

Your  bed  is  mine !"     A  marshal,  at  his  beck, 

Entered  the  room,  and  both  approach'd  the  couch. 

Edwin,  whose  spirit  sorrow  had  subdued, 

Entreated,  prayed,  and  on  his  knees  implored 

A  little  respite — but,  alas  !  in  vain  ! 

With  savage  coolness,  they  commenced  the  task — 

Amelia,  writhing  in  the  pangs  of  death, 

They  placed,  ungently,  on  the  cheerless  floor, 

Secured  their  prey,  and  saw  the  sufferer  die  ! 

POETRY. 

Music's  fair  sister — for  behold  in  each, 

Are  nameless  graces  which  no  methods  teach, 

And  which  a  master's  hand  alone  can  reach. 


RECITATIONS.  171 


DOCTOR 

Air  —  Nothing  at  all. 

A  last  and  a  lapstone,  were  once  my  delight, 
And  I  sung  while  I  hammered,  from  morning  till  night  ; 
But  all  the  day's  earnings,  at  eve,  I  would  spend, 
Till  the  thread  of  my  credit  was  brought  to  an  end. 

Spoken. 

For  1  was  up  to  a  thing  or  two,  and  loved  fun  ;  passed  the  night 
in  reciting  Shakspeare  at  the  ale-house,  and  kept  myself  awake 
the  next  day,  by  beating  time  with  the  hammer,  while  I  sung  — 

Make  a  death,  cut  a  stick,  high  time  I  tramp'd, 
Rise  again,  tick  again,  credit  new  vamp'd. 

2 

I  next  taught  the  gamut,  the  sharps,  and  the  flats, 
To  a  nasal-twang'd  bass,  and  a  treble  of  cats  ; 
Till  my  private  duet  with  a  miss,  got  abroad, 
Which  chang'd  the  key  note,  and  produced  a  discord. 

Spoken. 

A  little  love  affair,  that  ran  counter  to  my  wishes,  and  induced 
some  slanderous  tongues  to  pronounce  the  whole  tenor  of"  my 
conduct  to  be  thorough  bass.  So,  without  venturing  a  da  capo,  I 
pocketed  the  slur,  leapt  the  bar  with  a  quick  movement,  and  left 
the  flats  to  harmonize  as  they  could  ;  for  all  the  gossips  had  de 
creed  that  their  daughters  should  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  my 

Fa,  sol,  la;  fa,  sol,  la;  fa,  sol,  la,  me  ; 

Hop  a  twig,  such  a  rig  ought  not  to  be. 

3 

A  travelling  merchant  I  quickly  became, 
With  a  new  stock  in  trade,  a  new  dress,  and  new  name; 
And  I  bartered  my  goods  with  such  exquisite  grace, 
That  I  left  a  fair  mourner  in  ever  place. 

Spoken. 

"  O  Tabitha,  what  will  become  of  me  !  The  dear  sweet  Mr. 
Rover,  (for  that  was  my  travelling  name,)  my  dear  sweet  Mr.  Ro- 


172  TALES  AND 

ver,  the  pedler,  is  gone,  and  perhaps  1  shall  never  see  him  again. 

0  dear !"    "  Your  dear  sweet  Mr.  Rover,  indeed  !   I'd  have  you 
to  know,  cousin  Keziah,  that  he  is  my  dear  sweet  Mr.  Rover,  and 
he  has  left  me  something  to  remember  him  by." — "  O  the  base, 
wicked  deceiver  !  He  has  left  me  something  too."     Thus  would 
they  sympathize  with   each   other,  or   tear  caps  for  poor  Rover, 
while  I  was  unconsciously  preparing  a  similar  mine  to  spring  in 
the  next  village  \  or  jogging  quietly  along  the  road,  inviting  every 
one  to  buy  my 

Dutch  ovens, 'cullenders,  dippers  and  pans, 
Broaches  and  buckles,  with  ear-rings  and  fans. 

4 

A  schoolmaster,  next,  with  a  visage  severe, 
Board,  lodging  and  washing,  and  twelve  pounds  a  year, 
For  teaching  the  rustics  to  spell,  and  to  read 
The  New-England  Primer,  the  Psalter  and  Creed. 

Spoke*. 

You  must  know,  that  1  undertook  to  hammer  a  little  learning 
through  the  calfskin'd  pates  of  seventy  or  eighty  square-toed, 
leather- headed  numskulls.  But  after  vainly  trying  the  experi 
ment  at  both  ends  of  the  patients,  I  lost  my  own  patience,  and  my 
school  into  the  bargain,  and  was  glad  to  make  a  precipitate  retreal 
with  a  whole  skin  5  and  this  so  forcibly  reminded  me  of  my  mu 
sical  scrape,  that  1  struck  up  the  old  chorus  of 

Fa,  sol,  la ;  fa,  sol,  la ;  fa,  sol,  la,  me ; 
Hop  a  twig,  such  a  rig  ought  not  to  be. 
5 

1  then  became  preacher  without  any  call, 

When  a  sweet  village  lass  came  to  hear  brother  Paul ; 
And  told  her  experience  o'er  with  such  grace, 
That  I  gave  the  dear  creature  an  ardent  embrace. 

Spoken. 

There  was  the  devil  to  pay,  and  poor  I  once  more  in  the  voc 
ative.  But,  I  made  my  escape  to  the  back-woods,  singing  my  old 
Crispin  d  itty 

Make  a  death,  cut  a  stick,  high  time  I  tramp'd, 
Rise  again,  tick  again,  credit  new  vamp'd. 


RECITATIONS.  179 

And  now  a  physician,  with  cock'd  hat  and  wig, 
I  can  feel  ladies'  pujses,  look  wise,  and  talk  big; 
With  a  fine  ruffled  shirt,  and  good  coat  to  my  back, 
I  pluck  the  poor  geese,  while  the  ducks  exclaim  quack  ! 

Spoken. 

"  O  Doctor,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come.  I  have  such  a  consarned 
beating  of  the  heart,  that  1  can  hardly  draw  my  breath.  Oh  !" 
"  Let  me  see  your  tongue,  Miss." — "  My  tongue !  Law  souls, 
Doctor,  what  in  the  world  has  the  tongue  lo  do  with  the  heart  ?" 
"  In  general,  Miss,  not  much ;  but  your  case  is  an  exception." 
"  An  exception  !  O  goody  gracious  !  now,  you  don't  say  so  ;  is  an 
exception  a  dangerous  disorder,  Doctor?"  "Not  at  all  danger 
ous,  Miss.  An  application  of  stramonium  externally,  and  copi 
ous  draughts  of  catnip  tea  internally,  will  soon  restore  you." — 
The  lady's  heart  becomes  composed,  I  pocket  my  fee,  and  make 
my  exit,  singing 

Feel  the  pulse,  smell  the  cane,  look  at  the  tongue* 
Touch  the  gold,  praise  the  old,  flatter  the  young. 


RAISING-    THE    WIND. 

Spoken  by  a  Player^  on  the  night  of  his  Benefit 

It's  ever  been  the  study  of  mankind, 
In  every  station,  how  to  raise  the  wind ; 
And  who  attempts  it  with  the  least  address, 
Is  oft  rewarded  with  the  most  success ; 
As  many  a  novice,  by  a  lucky  throw, 
Has  foil'd  the  science  of  a  veteran  foe. 

Raising  the  wind,  however,  I'll  engage, 
Is  not  confined  to  climate,  sex,  or  age ; 
But  is,  in  fact,  the  universal  trade, 
Of  infant,  parent,  widow,  wife,  and  maid. 
15* 


174  TALES  AND 

Young  master  Fretful,  spoil'd  by  fond  mamma, 
Espies  a  treasure  in  the  sweetmeat  jar ; 
And,  if  refused  to  taste  the  luscious  store, 
Tunes  up  his  pipes  to  a  melodious  roar. 

"  Give  him  a  rod!"  the  angry  father  cries; 
"Nay,  nay!  my  dear!"  the  tender  spouse  replies, 
"  You'll  break  poor  Jacky's  heart,  or  spoil  his  eyes ; 
'Tis  hard  to  cross  so  innocent  a  wish — 
Here,  Jacky,  take  some,  on  this  china  dish ; 
Here,  deary,  wipe  your  eyes — papa's  unkind" — 
Jack  smiles  again — for  he  has  raised  the  wind. 

Tom  Rustic  throws  the  hoe  indignant  down, 
Assumes  his  Sunday  suit,  and  comes  to  town, 
Obtains  employment  in  a  dry-goods  store, 
And  soon  forgets  whate'er  he  knew  before : 
Commences  dandy  in  his  dress  and  air, 
And  learns  to* smoke  and  gamble,  drink  and  swear; 
Transform'd  in  manners,  dialect,  and  feature, 
Till  his  own  parents  scarcely  know  the  creature. 

"  I  say — Ned — demme — where  was  you  last  night  ? 
We'd  fun  enough  at  Cato's — blame  me  tight! 
I  bilk'd  the  driver,  too — ha,  ha !  keep  dark, 
Poor  yellow  Billy,  down  there  by  the  Park : 
You  know  that  Hudson  note — well,  don't  you  think, 
The  fellow  took  it — gave  the  change  in  chink ; 
The  rascal  certainly  was  drunk  or  blind, 
But,  ha!  ha!  ha!  egad,  I  raised  the  wind." 


RECITATIONS.  175 

Sir  Richard  Rake,  once  lord  of  boundless  wealth. 
A  bankrupt  now,  in  fortune,  fame,  and  health, 
Becomes  enamour'd  of  the  widow  Dash, 
Possess'd  of  many  thousand  charms — in  cash ; 
His  passion  knows  no  bounds — he  kneels  and  sighs, 
While  his  whole  soul  is  beaming  from  his  eyes. 

"Divine,  angelic  creature!  Here  I  vow, 
This  bosom  never  glow'd  with  love  till  now; 
O,  then,  be  kind,  and  grant  my  ardent  prayer, 
Nor  doom  a  faithful  lover  to  despair ! 
Your  matchless  charms" — 

"  O  fie !  Sir  Richard,  hushl 
Such  high-flown  praises  really  make  me  blush ; 
Fled  are  the  trifling  charms  which  once  were  mine, 
Though,  to  be  sure,  I'm  only  thirty nine.'1 

"  Nay,  hear  me,  dearest  madam — though  I  prize, 
Above  all  earthly  good,  those  beauteous  eyes ! 
It  is  your  mental  charms  that  touch  my  heart, 
That  cultivated  mind,  that  heavenly  part, 
So  high  above  the  reach  of  flattery's  art." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  so?"  "  Shall  I  swear?" 
"  O  no,  I  would  not  drive  you  to  despair — 
There — there's  my  hand — I  cannot  be  unkind." 
'Tis  thus  our  fortune-hunters  raise  the  wind. 

But  time  would  fail  me,  and  your  patience  too, 
Should  I  this  boundless  subject  thus  pursue, 


176  TALES  AND 

And  show  the  various  arts  by  which  mankind, 
Of  every  grade,  contrive  to  raise  the  wind. 
The  quack  effects  it,  when  and  where  he  pleases, 
By  advertising  cures  for  all  diseases ; 
The  politician  gives  his  friends  a  lift, 
Then  takes  the  fattest  office  in  their  gift; 
The  Wall-street  broker  shaves  you  in  a  note, 
The  humble  showman,  with  a  learned  goat. 
A  more  adventurous  soul  will  raise  a  breeze 
By  seal-clad  natives  brought  from  over  seas ; 
While  lottery  venders,  thinking  fortune  blind, 
Assume  her  functions,  and  so  raise  the  wind. 

Not  so  your  humble  servant,  whose  sole  wish 
Was  to  prepare  an  intellectual  dish 
To  treat  his  friends — and  if  he  cannot  raise 
A  gale  of  approbation  in  his  praise, 
Yet  still  he  hopes  his  well-intended  toils 
Will  meet  the  gentler  sunshine  of  your  smiles. 


THE    FIRST    OF    MATT. 

Or,  the  City  of  New-York  in  an  uproar. 

The  curtain  rises,  and  the  play  begins — 
Here  at  the  corner,  screened  by  oaken  post, 
The  muse  shall  take  her  stand,  and  view  the  scene. 
At  every  door,  behold  the  ready  cart 
Receive  its  cumbrous  load  ;  the  horse  throws  round 
A  glance  of  meek  compassion,  which  to  me 


RECITATIONS.  1T7 

Speaks  in  a  language,  plain  as  brutes  can  speak, 
"  What  a  poor  fool  is  man  !"     His  driver  swears, 
Wives  scold,  dogs  bark,  cats  mew,  and  children  cry, 
Pots  break,  chairs  crack,  pans  ring,  and  jarring  notes, 
Of  harshest  discord,  rise  on  every  side. 

There  goes  a  matron  with  her  looking-glass, 
A  legacy  from  mother  to  her  child 
For  several  generations,  and  she'll  trust 
None  to  remove  it  but  her  careful  self. 
But  better  had  she  stowed  it  on  the  car 
Where  all  her  baggage  rides  ;  for  fate  has  doom'd, 
(By  sudden  contact  with  a  porter's  load) 
To  dash  the  sacred  treasure  from  her  hand 
On  the  unchristian  pavements,  where  she  views 
Her  scattered  hopes  in  rude  disorder  spread, 
Reflecting  houses,  passengers,  and  skies. 
Here  a  full  barrow,  piled  with  feather-beds, 
Pushed  by  a  sturdy  porter,  runs  you  down, 
Ere  you  can  shun  the  danger ;  yonder  goes 
The  sweating  bearer  of  a  precious  load, 
Baskets  of  china-ware,  and  sweetmeat  jars, 
And  the  cold  relics  of  some  late  repast. 
And  here  a  lumbering  cart  moves  slowly  on, 
Piled  high  with  bureaus,  bedsteads,  tables,  desks, 
Chairs,  cradle,  rubbish,  wash-tubs,  kettles,  pots, 
Old  empty  barrels,  benches,  trammels,  pans, 
The  fire  utensils,  carpet-rags,  old  books, 
And  musty  pamphlets,  oil  jugs,  bottles,  frames, 
Mats,  brooms,  Dutch-ovens,  gridirons,  griddles,  jacks, 
Trunks,  piggins,  toasters,  pickle-pots,  and  all. 


178  TALES  AND 

ADDRESS 

For  the  Opening  of  the  new  Park  Theatre — Spoken  by 
Jtfrs.  Barnes,  in  character  of  J\Ielpomene. 

What  glorious  vision  bursts  upon  my  view ! 
Does  fancy  mock  me  ?  No,  'tis  true !  'tis  true ! 
No  false  illusive  dream  of  past  delight, 
But  blest  realities,  salute  my  sight : 
The  ruthless  fiend  of  ruin  is  displaced, 
By  beauty,  fashion,  elegance,  and  taste. 
Thrill'd  with  such  rapture  as  when  first  I  press'd 
The  infant  Shakspeare  to  this  throbbing  breast, 
I  hail  the  scene,  my  temple  and  my  home, 
While  rays  of  beauty  light  the  vaulted  dome. 
Despair,  avaunt !  the  storm  of  grief  is  past, 
And  joy's  bright  sunshine  gilds  the  scene  at  last! 

Here,  where  the  tragic  muse  has  mourn'd  so  long 
The  sleep  of  passion,  and  the  death  of  song , 
Where  o'er  the  urn  of  blighted  hopes  she  hung, 
With  vacant,  beamless  eye,  and  silent  tongue ; 
While  shapeless  heaps  of  ruins  smoked  around, 
And  desolation  mark'd  the  blacken'd  ground — 
Here,  from  its  ashes,  see  her  temple  burst, 
With  grace  and  splendour  that  surpass  the  first. 
So  from  its  parent's  dust  the  phoenix  springs, 
With  Eden's  richest  plumage  in  his  wings ; 
Thus  dazzling  soars,  unrivall'd,  and  alone, 
His  age  a  century,  and  a  world  his  own. 


,': 

RECITATIONS.  170 

Ye  generous  freemen,  who  in  danger  stand 
The  shield  and  bulwark  of  our  happy  land ; 
Who,  mid  the  sweeter  luxuries  of  peace, 
Behold  your  greatness  with  your  arts  increase; 
Whose  liberal  minds  throw  lustre  on  the  age, 
O  still  protect  and  patronise  the  stage ; 
That  bright  auxiliar  in  refinement's  cause, 
Which  raised  proud  Greece  to  what  at  length  she  was, 
Invited  forth,  and  scattered,  unconfined, 
The  boundless  treasures  of  a  Shakspeare'a  mind ; 
And  taught  the  vulgar  barbarous  sons  of  strife 
The  gentler  courtesies  that  sweeten  life. 


Ye  freeborn  fair,  who  grace  Columbia's  clime, 
Whose  bosoms  glow  with  sentiments  sublime ; 
Whose  smiles  inspire  the  actions  they  reward, 
Whose  tears  embalm  the  virtues  they  applaud ; 
Still  let  those  smiles  and  tears  alternate  prove 
That  wit  can  charm,  that  sympathy  can  move. 
And  while  your  hearts  celestial  truth  revere, 
Still  condescend  to  trace  her  picture  here ; 
Still  let  your  presence  consecrate  the  art 
That  holds  a  mirror  to  the  human  heart ; 
That  shows  the  black  and  hideous  form  of  vice, 
And  raises  virtue's  worth  beyond  a  price ; 
That  culls  the  fruits  of  fancy's  wide  domains, 
That  calls  from  poesy  her  sweetest  strains; 
That  teaches  young  affection  what  alone 
Can  make  a  virtuous,  manly  heart,  her  own ; 


J 


180  RECITATIONS. 

\nd  shows  to  art  how  vain  are  all  its  wiles, 
That  he  who  wins  must  first  deserve  your  smiles. 

Columbians,  all !  ye  patriots,  and  ye  fair, 
Still  let  the  drama  claim  your  generous  care ; 
Cherish' d  by  you,  it  will  the  champion  prove 
Of  freedom,  virtue,  and  the  arts  you  love ; 
So  shall  this  city,  by  refinement  blest, 
Become  the  pride  and  mistress  of  the  west; 
So  shall  your  country  rise  to  greater  fame, 
And  endless  glory  gild  Columbia's  name. 


MOKNIXTG. 

An  Extract  from  Beasts  at  Law. 

The  morn,  in  purple  glories  dight, 
Now  burst  upon  the  rear  of  Night, 
Who,  gathering  up  his  lurid  vest, 
Is  swift  retreating  towards  the  west. 
All  nature  wakes  from  soft  repose, 
The  flowers  their  dewy  breasts  unclose, 
Where  insect  tribes  their  votaries  pay, 
And  sip  their  nectared  sweets  away. 
The  birds  commence  their  matin  song, 
And  streams  of  music  float  along : 
The  herds  their  grassy  couch  forsake, 
To  crop  the  mead,  or  taste  the  lake, 
And  all  commence  the  infant  day, 
As  toil  or  pleasure  points  the  way. 


MELODIES. 


RELIGIOUS,    MORAL,    AND    ELEGIAC. 


SIN   170   MORE. 

A  song  of  gratitude  begin, 
To  praise  the  God  who  saves  from  sin ; 
Who  marks  the  penitential  tear, 
And  deigns  the  contrite  sigh  to  hear ; 
Who  whispers  hope,  when  we  our  sins  deplore — 
"  Thy  God  condemns  thee  not — offend  no  more." 

But  ah !  such  love  can  ne'er  be  sung — 
Such  boundless  grace ! — by  mortal  tongue ; 
For  e'en  celestial  minstrels  deem 
Their  highest  skill  below  the  theme ; 
Yet  mortals  can,  with  gratitude,  adore 
The  God  who  pardons  all  that  sin  no  more. 

Dear  Lord !  is  this  condition  all — 
To  fight  the  foes  that  wrought  our  fall  ? 
Thus  arm'd  with  hope,  I'll  quell  a  host, 
Nor  let  so  cheap  a  heaven  be  lost ; 
O  then  repeat  the  sweet  assurance  o'er, 
"  Thy  God  will  not  condemn  thee — sin  no  more." 
16 


182  MELODIES. 

PHILOSOPHY    AND    RELIGION. 

There  is  a  Philosophy,  hollow,  unsound, 
To  matter  confining  its  false  speculations ; 

Whose  flight  is  confined  within  Nature's  dull  round, 
Its  pinions  the  web  of  sophistic  persuasions. 

And  there's  a  Philosophy  truly  divine, 
That  traces  effects  up  to  spiritual  causes, 

Determines  the  link  of  the  chain  where  they  join, 
And  soars  to  an  infinite  height  ere  it  pauses. 

That  meanly  debases  the  image  of  God, 
To  rank  with  the  brutes  in  the  scale  of  creation. 

This  raises  the  tenant  of  light  from  the  sod, 
And  bears  him  to  heaven,  his  primitive  station. 

Hail,  science  of  Angels !  Theosophy,  hail ! 

That  shows  us  the  regions  of  bliss  by  reflection ; 
Removes  from  creation's  broad  mirror  the  vail, 

Where  spirit  and  matter  appear  in  connexion. 

It  breaks  on  the  soul  in  an  ocean  of  light, 

She  starts  from  her  lethargy,  stretches  her  pinions. 

Beholds  a  new  world  bursting  forth  on  her  sight, 
And,  soaring  in  ecstacy,  claims  her  dominions. 

A  sense  of  original,  dignified  worth, 

Her  bosom  expands  with  sublime  exultation; 

She  tastes  immortality  even  on  earth, 
In  light  that  eclipses  the  sun's  emanation. 


RELIGIOUS.  183 

Be  sages  and  pedants  to  nature  confined, 

As  the  bat  darkly  flutters  in  Luna's  pale  presence; 

I'll  soar,  like  the  eagle,  through  regions  of  mind,. 
In  the  blaze  of  that  Sun  which  is  truth  in  its  essence. 


AND    BID    I    SAY. 

And  did  I  say,  my  lyre  should  sleep, 

Because  no  laurels  deck'd  it ; 
That  I  no  more  its  chords  would  swee^' 
Because  its  lay  is  valued  cheap, 

And  all  the  world  neglect  it  ? 
I  did — but  felt  not  then  the  flame 

Which  now  within  me  blazes, 
Nor  reck'd  of  His  eternal  claim, 
Who  gave  the  lyre  to  sing  His  name, 

And  utter  forth  His  praises. 

But  now  that  lyre  shall  sleep  no  more* 

Nor  wake  to  earthly  measures ; 
But  every  strain  it  warbles  o'er, 
Shall  that  Eternal  Source  adore, 

Whence  flow  immortal  pleasures. 
No  more  I  prostitute  its  lay, 

To  subjects  evanescent; 
But  sing  those  scenes  of  endless  day, 
Where  angel  harps  in  rapture  play, 

And  praises  flow  incessant. 


1«4  MELODIES. 

WEEPING    MARY. 

Imitated  from  the  Latin,  in  the  Catholic  Hymn-book. 

Weeping  Mary,  bathed  in  sorrow, 
Linger'd  near  the  scene  of  horror, 

Where  the  dying  Saviour  hung; 
From  whose  bursting  heart  arising, 
Groans  of  anguish  agonizing, 

Floated  o'er  His  fevered  tongue ! 

O  what  sorrow,  deep,  unbounded, 
That  maternal  bosom  wounded, 

Once  the  Saviour's  couch  of  rest ! 
How  she  wept  to  see  Him  languish, 
How  she  trembled  for  the  anguish 

Labouring  in  His  guiltless  breast ! 

Who  could  witness,  without  weeping, 
Gushing  streams  of  sorrow  sweeping 

Dov.Tn  the  mother's  pallid  cheek? 
Whor  with  bosom  unrelenting, 
Could  behold  her  thus  lamenting, 

Looking  what  no  tongue  could  speak  ? 

While  such  pangs  as  fiends  invented, 
Still  her  suffering  Son  tormented, 

Scorn  and  bruises,  stripes  and  death ; 
She  beheld  Him  thus  expiring, 
Human  friends  in  fear  retiring,  , 

Whilst  in  groans  He  spent  His  breath ! 


RELIGIOUS.  186 

Matchless  mercy !  love  amazing ! 
Far  above  our  feeble  praising, 

Far  beyond  our  humble  lays ; 
May  its  influence  never  vary, 
Till  my  heart,  like  that  of  Mary, 

Glow  with  a  seraphic  blaze. 

Gracious  Saviour,  now  in  glory ! 
Be  this  sad  affecting  story 

Deeply  on  thy  soul  imprest ! 
May  the  scene  of  such  affliction, 
Bring  the  hardest  heart  conviction, 

Melt  the  most  obdurate  breast ! 


EPITAPHS. 

O  who,  that  beheld  her  delectable  smile, 
When  lent  to  the  hopes  of  her  parents  awhile, 
And  read  in  the  glance  of  her  infantile  eye 
A  soul  of  affection  that  never  can  die ; 
Attended  the  silvery  tones  of  her  tongue, 
And  fancied  a  seraph  had  spoken  or  sung ; 
Survey'd  her  dear  form,  as  the  model  of  beauty, 
When  moving  in  acts  of  affection  and  duty — 
But  ready  assent  to  this  precept  has  given : 
Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Jesus  in  Heaven. 

Sacred  to  Virtue,  let  this  marble  stand. 
And  time  forbear  the  tablet  to  destroy, 

Whose  lay  disarms  the  king  of  terrors'  hand— 
"  Death  is  the  gate  to  everlasting  joy  " 

16* 


186  MELODIES. 


INCARNATION. 
Air—Mew  Sabbath. 


O  for  a  Seraph's  golden  lyre, 

With  chords  of  light,  and  tones  of  fire, 

To  sing  that  wondrous  love 
Which  brought  a  Deity  below, 
To  save  an  erring  race  from  wo, 

And  give  them  joys  above. 

O  may  that  love  inspire  my  soul, 
Till  such  ecstatic  numbers  roll, 

As  rre  by  angels  given; 
To  tell  Redemption's  wondrous  plan, 
How  Heaven  descended  down  to  man, 

That  man  might  rise  to  Heaven. 

His  creatures  fell  —  no  pitying  eye, 
No  powerful  arm  to  save,  was  nigh, 

Or  aid  our  feeble  powers  ; 
He  saw  —  He  came  —  He  fought  alone, 
And  conquered  evils  not  his  own, 

That  we  might  conquer  ours. 

Temptation's  thorny  path  He  trod, 
In  form,  a  man  —  in  soul,  a  God, 

And  trod  the  path  alone  ; 
In  vain  the  direst  fiends  assail'd, 
His  mighty  arm  of  power  prevail'd, 

And  hell  was  overthrown. 


RELIGIOUS.  187 

He  pass'd  the  dismal  vale  of  death — 
The  human  form  resign'd  its  breath, 

And  like  a  mortal  died ; 
But  death  was  crush'd  beneath  His  feet, 
He  rose  a  God  and  Man  complete, 

His  human  glorified. 

Amazing  mercy ! — love  immense ! 
Surpassing  every  human  sense, 

Since  time  and  sense  began ! 
That  man  might  shun  the  realms  of  pain. 
And  know  and  love  his  God  again, 

His  God  became  a  man ! 


EPITAPH. 

She  is  not  here — 'tis  but  her  veil  of  clay 
That  moulders  into  dust  beneath  this  stone ; 

Mary  herself,  in  realms  of  endless  day, 
Has  put  a  robe  of  fadeless  glory  on. 

This  monumental  urn  is  not  design'd 
To  tell  of  beauties  withering  in  the  tomb ; 

Her  brightest  charms  were  centred  in  a  mind 
Which  still  survives,  and  will  forever  bloom. 

Yet  may  this  marble  teach  the  solemn  truth, 
That  virtue  only  can  true  bliss  impart ; 

While  neither  friendship,  beauty,  health,  nor  youth, 
Can  shield  the  breast  from  death's  insatiate  dart. 


188  MELODIES. 

NEW  JERUSALEM. 

Air — Hotham. 

Rich  in  mercy,  Jesus  reigns, 

Heaven  owns  no  other  king ; 
Crown  Him,  mortals,  in  your  strains, 

While  His  matchless  grace  you  sing. 
Angels  wake  their  loftier  lays, 

Kindled  from  celestial  fires, 
Humbler  spirits  bid  His  praise 

Sweetly  flow  from  silver  lyres. 

Mortals !  catch  the  pleasing  strain, 

Gratitude  demands  the  song — 
Jesus  builds  His  church  again, 

Where  your  Babel  stood  so  long. 
Truth  divine  her  wall  supports, 

Love  has  paved  her  streets  with  gold 
See  her  jasper  towers  and  courts, 

Gates  of  pearl  that  never  fold. 

Pilgrims!  enter  and  rejoice — 

Here  your  Saviour  holds  his  throne ; 
'Tis  the  City  of  His  choice, 

'Tis  the  Church  He  calls  His  own. 
Precious  gems,  on  every  side, 

Lend  new  lustre  to  her  charms — 
'Tis  the  Lamb's  celestial  Bride, 

Smiling  hi  her  husband's  arms. 


RELIGIOUS.  189 

REGENERATION. 

Blessed  is  the  man  who  walketh  not  in  the  counsel  of  the  ungodly,  4c.— Pialai  i.  1,  2,  3. 

How  happy  the  man  who  discards  from  his  breast 
The  lusts  and  the  passions  which  daily  molest ; 
Who  heeds  not  their  counsel  or  softest  persuasion. 
But  treats  them  as  foes  upon  every  occasion. 

Tho'  the  sunshine  of  peace  such  a  bosom  illume, 
Or  nights  of  temptation  involve  it  in  gloom ; 
Whatever  his  state  be,  with  calm  resignation, 
He  looks  to  the  Word  of  his  God  for  salvation. 

And  the  Word  of  his  God,  like  a  river  of  truth, 
Gives  each  young-budding  virtue  the  vigour  of  youth ; 
While  practical  love  is  still  tempered  by  reason, 
As  the  green  leaflet  decks  the  ripe  fruit  in  its  season. 

Thus  regeneration  proceeds  from  the  Word, 
If  we  combat  our  evils,  and  trust  in  the  Lord ; 
Then  prosper,  dear  Saviour,  each  humble  endeavour > 
And  thine  be  the  glory,  for  ever  and  ever ! 


BE    WISE! 

The  graver  moralist  resumes  his  theme, 
To  wake  the  soul  from  error's  fatal  dream ; 
To  show  the  path  which  leads  to  solid  bliss, 
The  happy  goal  which  slaves  of  passion  miss. 


190  MELODIC. 

REDEMPTION. 

Redemption  claims  our  highest  lays, 
To  Jesus  Christ  belongs  the  praise ; 
The  lofty  theme  should  fire  the  soul, 
And  music's  richest  numbers  roll. 
Our  blest  Redeemer  is  the  God  we  own, 
Then  swell  the  chorus  to  His  name  alone. 

Unseen,  unknown,  and  unreveal'd, 
No  creature's  eye  our  God  beheld, 
Till  He  the  wondrous  work  begun, 
And  showed  the  Father  in  the  Son ; 
Jehovah  now  as  Jesus  Christ  is  known, 
Then  swell  the  chorus  to  his  name  alone 

From  heaven  His  pitying  eye  surveyed 
The  ruin  sin  on  earth  had  made ; 
He  saw  His  creatures  run  the  road 
Which  led  from  happiness  and  God ; 
He  saw,  and  saved — the  work  was  all  his  own, 
Then  swell  the  chorus  to  His  name  alone. 

Swift  from  supernal  realms  of  day, 
Seraphic  minstrels  wing'd  their  way, 
To  hail  the  great  Redeemer's  birth, 
And  publish  peace  to  men  on  earth : 
"  To  God  give  glory" — sung  the  joyous  throng, 
Let  men  and  angels  still  repeat  the  song. 

Alas !  no  human  accents  can 
Express  the  love  of  God  to  man ; 


RELIGIOUS.  191 

Who,  to  redeem  a  sinful  worm, 
Assumed  the  human  mind  and  form ; 

Was  born  a  man,  that  man  might  be  re-born ! 

Then  let  us  praise  Him  on  His  natal  morn. 


BRIGHT    IS    THE    WORD. 

Arranged  and  published  by  E.  Riley. 

Bright  is  the  Word,  'tis  light  divine, 
A  Sun  that  will  forever  shine, 
To  light  us  o'er  the  pathless  sand, 
From  Egypt  to  the  promised  land. 
Then  swell  the  anthem  to  its  author's  praise, 
Who  through  the  world  extends  its  cheering  rays. 

Clear  is  the  word,  whose  living  stream, 

Reflecting  love's  celestial  beam, 

Thro'  every  sterile  desert  rolls, 

Imparting  life  to  dying  souls ; 
The  tree  of  life  adorns  its  verdant  brink, 
It  flows  to  all — and  all  may  freely  drink. 

Then  let  the  grateful  anthem  rise 
To  God,  the  only  good  and  wise, 
Who  bids  the  heathen  hear  his  voice, 
And  in  his  boundless  love  rejoice. 
The  light  shall  spread,  the  bounteous  river  flow, 
Till  all  the  earth  a  Saviour's  love  shall  know. 


tS  MELODIES. 

THE    NATIVITY. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

Strike  the  loud  anthem,  to  hail  the  blest  morning, 

Jesus  the  Saviour  an  infant  appears ; 
Lo!  in  the  East,  a  new  day-spring  is  dawning ! 
Hark !  the  glad  tidings  which  sound  in  our  ears ! 
On  this  auspicious  morn, 
To  us  a  child  is  born, 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest  be  given ; 
Hail  our  Redeemer's  birth — 
Good  will  and  peace  on  earth — 
Man  shall  again  have  conjunction  with  Heaven. 

Hark !  'twas  the  voice  of  a  seraph  that  sounded — 

Shepherds  of  Judea  start  with  surprise, 
While,  with  a  radiance  of  glory  surrounded, 
Troops  of  bright  angels  descend  from  the  skies. 
Now  loud  the  choral  strain 
Swells  round  the  happy  plain, 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest  be  given; 
Hail  our  Redeemer's  birth — 
Good  will  and  peace  on  earth — 
Man  shall  again  have  conjunction  with  Heaven. 


RELIGIOUS.  193 

Praise  Him  with  grateful  lays, 

Pour  forth  the  soul  in  praise ; 
The  government  rests  on  His  shoulders  alone : 

In  Him  the  Godhead  dwells 

Which  has  subdued  the  hells; 
And  God  the  Creator  as  Jesus  is  known. 


SEEK    YE    THE    LOUD. 

Ye  sons  of  men,  come,  seek  the  Lord, 
While  yet  He  may  be  found ; 

He'll  meet  you  in  His  holy  Word, 
Where  love  and  truth  abound. 

Call  on  Him  while  He  yet  is  near 

To  hear  a  sinner's  call; 
A  humble  penitential  tear 

Will  never  vainly  fall. 

Let  man  forsake  the  sinner's  road, 
Discard  each  vicious  thought, 

Return  to  Jesus,  as  his  God, 
And  be  by  Jesus  taught ; 

Then  will  the  Lord  his  mercy  show, 

His  pardon  freely  give ; 
Then  man  his  only  good  will  know, 

And  in  that  knowledge  live. 


194  MELODIES. 


GOD    IN    HIS    TEMPLE. 
Music  by  E.  C.  Riley. 

God  is  in  His  holy  temple, 

Sons  of  earth,  be  silent  now  ; 
Hither  let  the  saints  assemble, 

And  before  His  footstool  bow. 
Lo,  He's  present  with  us  ever, 

When  assembled  in  His  name ; 
Aiding  every  good  endeavour, 

Guiding  every  humble  aim. 

God  is  in  His  holy  temple, 

'Tis  each  renovated  mind ; 
Where  the  purer  thoughts  assemble, 

While  the  base  are  cast  behind. 
Every  earthly,  low  affection, 

Long  opposed,  is  silent  now ; 
Every  passion,  in  subjection, 

Must  at  Wisdom's  altar  bow. 

God  is  in  His  holy  temple, 

'Tis  the  church  He  calls  His  own, 
'Tis  the  city  where  assemble 

All  who  worship  Him  alone. 
New-Jerusalem  the  holy 

Is  the  city  of  our  God, 
There  our  Saviour  governs  solely, 

With  the  balance  and  the  rod. 


RELIGIOUS.  195 

God  is  in  His  holy  temple, 

'Tis  the  hody  of  our  Lord ; 
Infidels  may  doubt  and  tremble, 

We  have  learn'd  it  from  His  Word; 
From  the  Word  which  wrought  creation, 

From  that  Word  which  flesh  became, 
Which  alone  can  give  salvation — 

God  and  Jesus  are  the  same. 


EPITAPH   ON    A.    CHILD. 

In  life's  parterre,  what  numerous  germs  disclose 

The  loveliest  tints,  the  sweetest  blushing  dyes ! 
The  enraptured  florist  views  the  opening  rose, 
Screens  it  from  every  ruder  wind  that  blows, 

And  richer  future  charms  in  embryo  espies. 
But,  ah !  the  spoiler  stalks  abroad,  whose  breath 
Is  pestilence,  whose  chilling  touch  is  death  ! 

With  merciless  hand  he  crops  the  flower, 
And  all  its  promised  beauty  flies, 

It  falls  beneath  his  baneful  power, 

Its  sweets  are  scattered  in  an  hour ; 

It  shrinks,  it  withers,  droops,  and  dies. 
Yet,  mourn  not,  ye,  whose  fostering  love  and  care 

To  culture  a  beloved  plant  has  fail'd ; 
'Tis  but  transplanted  to  a  garden,  where 
Eternal  summer  smiles ;  'twill  flourish  these 

In  living  hues,  by  spoilers  unassail'd. 


196  MELODIES. 

THE    WIDOW. 

We  parted :  Oh !  it  was  a  painful  hour ! 

Not  that  I  thought  him  lost  to  me  for  ever, 
I  knew  that  mighty  love's  resistless  power 

Would  re-unite  us,  ne'er  again  to  sever ; 
For  we  are  wedded — not  as  thoughtless  mortals, 

Incited  only  by  terrestrial  views, 
Enter  that  sacred  fane's  mysterious  portals. 

Our  souls  are  wedded ;  that  assurance  strews 

My  widowed  path  with  flowers  of  fadeless  hues. 

Yet  is  the  briefest  parting  hard ;  for  love, 

Deprived  of  wisdom,  is  a  rayless  sun  ; 
A  summer  midnight,  when  no  star  above 

Throws  down  one  cheering  ray ;  'tis  GOOD,  alone, 
Without  her  partner  TRUTH  ;  or  it  resembles 

Warm  melting  CHARITY,  intent  to  bless, 
When,  without  FAITH  to  guide  her  steps,  she  trembles 

O'er  the  dark  scene  of  human  wretchedness, 

Wondering  if  Heaven  permit  or  wills  distress. 

'Twas  hard  to  part ;  and  while  his  spirit  hovered 

On  the  cold  lips  my  kisses  could  not  warm, 
I  prayed  and  murmured ;  but,  alas !  when  covered 

By  the  dark  pall,  they  bore  that  manly  form 
To  its  cold  grave,  I  lost  the  pang  of  sorrow, 

For  reason  fled,  and  I'd  a  dreamless  sleep; 
But  woke,  in  anguish,  on  the  coming  morrow, 

No  more  to  murmur,  pray,  or  even  weep, 

For  grief  is  ever  silent  when  it's  deep. 


RELIGIOUS.  19T 

Humbled  to  earth,  my  self-upbraiding  soul, 

With  mental  tongue,  exclaim'd,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 
When,  through  my  bosom,  such  a  feeling  stole 
As  mocks  the  power  of  language ;  it  was  one 
Of  those  delicious  thrills  of  nameless  rapture 
We  feel,  when  conscience,  Heav'n,  and  friends  approve; 
When  earthly  joys  have  lost  their  power  to  capture  ; 
For  REUBEN'S  spirit  whispered,  "  Peace,  sweet  dove, 
We're  joined  for  ever,  in  Conjugial 


TO   THE    REV.    J.    HARGROVE, 

On  hearing  him  preach  on  the  Pleasures  of  Religion. 

When  o'er  the  sacred  desk,  with  modest  grace 

And  lowly  meekness,  bends  thy  reverend  form, 
While  the  great  theme  that  animates  thy  face, 

Bids  every  bosom  glow  with  transport  warm- 
How  could  I  listen  to  the  heavenly  theme, 

Forget  the  pleasures  that  entice  me  here, 
Think  human  life  a  transitory  dream, 

And  wish,  with  thee,  to  gain  a  higher  sphere ! 

Go  on,  thou  champion  in  the  cause  of  truth, 
Armed  by  thy  Saviour,  still  the  foe  engage ; 

Still  charm  from  vice  the  steps  of  ardent  youth, 
And  strew  with  rosy  hopes  the  path  of  age. 

*  From  the  Latin  term  r.t»njuffiaJ.a,  a  higher  dejrrec  of  union  than  is  undei 
•tood  by  the  term  conjugal,  which  is  from  the  Latin  word  conjugate. 


198  MELODIES. 

THE    WORLD    OF    MIND. 

First  day  of  Creation. 

There  is  a  world — the  world  of  mind, 
By  neither  time  nor  space  confined ; 
And  when  we  cease  in  flesh  to  dwell, 
That  world  will  be  our  heaven  or  hell. 

By  fallen  nature,  'tis,  alas ! 
A  rude,  chaotic,  shapeless  mass ; 
Devoid  of  goodness,  truth,  or  light, 
And  veil'd  in  blackest  shades  of  night 

But  He  who  gave  creation  birth, 
Can  re-create  this  mental  earth ; 
For  this  His  spirit,  like  a  dove, 
Broods  o'er  our  secret  thoughts  in  love 

If  we  consent  to  be  renewed, 

And  wish  our  evil  lust  subdued; 

"  Let  there  be  light,"  He  says,  and  straight 

We  see  our  low  disordered  state. 

Then  do  we  seek  to  know  the  Lord, 
Receive  instruction  from  His  word ; 
While  He  divides  the  day  from  night, 
And  we  proceed  from  shade  to  light. 

Lord,  let  thy  spirit,  like  a  dove, 
Brood  over  all  our  souls  in  love ; 
Then  give  us  light  our  state  to  see, 
And  we  will  give  the  praise  to  thee. 


RELIGIOUS.  199 

THE   WORLD    OF   MIND. 

Second  day  of  Creation. 

Our  God  can  re-create, 

And  form  the  soul  anew ; 
And  all  who  will  co-operate, 

Shall  find  His  promise  true. 

When  we  permit  His  light 

Our  evils  to  reprove, 
And  then  those  evils  boldly  fight, 

He  will  the  whole  remove. 

Though  hard  the  contest  prove, 

And  doubtful  seem  the  fray, 
He  hovers  o'er  us  with  His  love, 

Till  we  have  gain'd  the  day. 

The  Lord  will  then  create 

A  firmament  sublime, 
Celestial  thoughts  to  separate 

From  those  of  sense  and  time. 

We  then  no  more  believe 

The  work  to  be  our  own ; 
But  all  of  good  that  we  receive 

Ascribe  to  God  alone. 

Thus  will  a  second  birth 

Form  heaven  within  the  soul, 
And  man,  a  new  created  earth, 

In  order's  orbit  roll. 


£00  MELODIES. 

MIRIAM'S    SONG. 

Air — Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea. 

Sing  to  Jehovah  an  anthem  of  praise, 
And  tell  of  His  glory  in  rapturous  lays ; 
Sing  of  His  triumphs  when  demons  assaulted, 
When  hosts  of  infernals  His  human  assail'd, 
The  hells  were  subdued,  and  the  Victor  exalted— 
Like  man  He  was  tempted — like  God  He  prevail'd. 
Sing  to  Jehovah  an  anthem  of  praise, 
And  tell  of  His  triumphs  in  rapturous  lays. 

Praise  Him,  ye  ransomed — He  conquered  for  you, 
Who  fled  from  your  sins,  and  beheld  them  pursue ; 
Whelming  your  spirits  in  deep  tribulation, 
But  Jesus  was  present,  a  pillar  of  fire, 
And  led  you  in  safety  through  seas  of  temptation, 
In  which  you  beheld  each  assailant  expire. 
Sing  to  Jehovah  an  anthem  of  praise, 
And  tell  of  His  triumphs  in  rapturous  lays. 

Praise  Him  who  conquer'd  our  spiritual  foes, 
When  fierce,  like  an  army  of  horsemen,  they  rose, 
Threatening  again  in  their  shackles  to  bind  us ; 

Through  billows  of  trouble  He  led  us  to  shore, 
While  the  horse  and  his  rider  were  founder'd  behind  us, 
O'erwhelm'd  in  the  gulf,  to  assail  us  no  more. 
Sing  to  Jehovah  an  anthem  of  praise, 
And  tell  of  His  triumphs  in  rapturous  lays. 


RELIGIOUS.  201 

OPEN    THE    DOOR. 

Sabbath. 


That  God  who  calls  the  human  mind, 
A  temple  for  himself  design'd, 

A  house  upon  a  rock  — 
Assures  us  He  will  patient  wait, 
In  mercy,  at  the  mental  gate, 

And  for  admittance  knock. 

Who  hears  the  gracious  call  within, 
And  draws  the  iron  bolts  of  sin, 

Which  barricade  the  door, 
Will  banquet  with  a  guest  divine, 
On  life-imparting  food  and  wine, 

From  Love's  exhaustless  store. 

Come,  then,  dear  Saviour  —  be  my  guest, 
Knock  louder  at  this  flinty  breast, 

And  rouse  me  with  thy  voice  ; 
Then  will  I  struggle  to  remove 
The  sins  which  now  obstruct  thy  love, 

And  in  that  love  rejoice. 

Thou  wilt  not  let  me  strive  in  vain  — 
The  gates  of  brass  shall  burst  in  twain, 

The  iron  bars  shall  fall  ; 
Then  will  my  soul  thy  temple  be, 
Where  I  shall  ever  feast  with  thee, 

My  God,  my  life,  my  all  ! 


202  MELODIES. 

HOW    SHALL    I    COME    BEFORE 

How  shall  we  sinners  come  before 
Our  blessed  Saviour's  dazzling  throne; 

Or  how  acceptably  adore 
The  great  redeeming  God  we  own  ? 

Shall  fatlings  on  His  altar  burn, 
Or  oil  in  bounteous  rivers  flow  ? 

Will  God  be  pleased  with  such  return, 
For  all  the  mighty  debt  we  owe  ? 

Or  shall  we  burst  the  tenderest  tie 

That  binds  the  throbbing  seat  of  sense, 

And  with  our  body's  offspring  buy 
A  pardon  for  our  soul's  offence  ? 

Ah !  no— a  humble,  contrite  heart, 
Is  all  the  offering  God  requires ; 

Our  only  sacrifice,  to  part 
With  evil  loves  and  false  desires. 


O  let  us,  then,  no  longer  stray, 

Along  the  dangerous  paths  we've  trod ; 
For  he  has  plainly  show'd  the  way 

Which  will  conduct  us  back  to  God. 

'Tis  but  to  regulate  the  mind 
By  the  pure  precepts  of  his  word ; 

To  act  with  truth  and  love  combined, 
And  humbly  imitate  the  Lord, 


RELIGIOUS.  203 

OK    THE    DEATH    OF    AN    INFANT. 

Air — Magdalen. 

Almighty  God!  'tis  right,  'tis  just, 
That  earthly  frames  should  turn  to  dust ; 
But,  ah !  forgive  the  wishful  tear, 
That  would  detain  a  spirit  here. 

Go,  gentle  babe,  to  realms  of  bliss, 
The  chastening  rod  we  humbly  kiss ; 
Thy  Saviour  calls  thee  home,  my  son, 
And  let  his  holy  will  be  done. 

Thy  earthly  form,  now  icy  cold, 
Was  framed  in  beauty's  fairest  mould ; 
But  now,  prepared  by  love  divine, 
A  fairer,  brighter  form  is  thine. 

Thy  earthly  parents  loved  thee  well — 
So  much,  that  language  fails  to  tell ; 
But,  ah !  our  love  was  weak  and  poor, 
Thy  heavenly  Parent  loves  thee  more. 

Here,  thou  wert  tenderly  caress'd, 
Upon  a  fond  maternal  breast ; 
But  angel-nurses,  forms  of  love, 
Shall  now  caress  my  babe  above. 

Fain  would  paternal  love  have  taught 
Thy  little  opening  world  of  thought ; 
But  we  the  pleasing  task  resign 
To  heavenly  schools,  and  books  divine. 


204  MELODIES. 

'Twaa  all  our  thoughts  and  wishes  still 
To  guard  our  darling  here  from  ill ; 
But  that  great  God  who  call'd  thee  home, 
Has  saved  from  greater  ills  to  come. 

Then  let  us  hush  the  rising  sigh, 
And  bid  affliction's  tear  be  dry ; 
Our  child  still  lives,  his  sorrows  o'er, 
Where  we  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 

There,  shall  the  sweet  maternal  kiss, 
Increase  his  joy — enhance  his  bliss; 
There,  through  redeeming  love  and  grace, 
The  father  shall  his  son  embrace. 

Almighty  God !  'tis  right,  'tis  just, 
That  earthly  frames  should  turn  to  dust ; 
But,  O  the  sweet,  transporting  truth — 
The  soul  shall  bloom  in  endless  youth. 


EPITAPH. 

This  frail  memorial  cannot  tell  his  worth, 
For  brighter  virtues  seldom  bloom  on  earth  ; 
Nor  in  one  heart  such  various  beauties  blend, 
As  husband,  father,  mason,  Christian,  friend. 
These  duties  done,  to  heaven  his  spirit  bears 
The  widow's  blessing,  and  the  orphan's  prayers; 
For  such  his  active  charity  has  bless'd, 
And  they  must  love  him  most  who  knew  him  best. 


ELEGIAC.  205 

A    JVIONODY 

On  the  death  of  a  highly-esteemed  Friend. .  .A.  D.  1807. 

My  lyre,  which  erst  to  friendship  tuned,  I  woke 

In  strains  the  sacred  theme  inspired, 
While  with  its  flame  the  glowing  chords  were  fired, 
Ah !  sad  exchange  !  the  tie  of  friendship  broke, 
By  death  dissolved,  must  make  its  sadder  theme ! 
While  every  falling  note  with  wo  shall  teem ! 
To  FLORIAN'S  early  fate  the  muse  shall  pay 

Sincere  affection's  purest  lay ; 
The  emanation  of  a  grief-fraught  soul, 
The  real  feelings  of  an  honest  heart, 
Unfeign'd,  and  unadorn'd  by  art, 
Who  all  her  paler  hues  from  nature  stole. 

Ye  youths,  ye  virgin  train, 
Whose  eyes  to  his  responsive  smiled, 
When  festive  rites  the  hours  beguiled, 

With  me  complain ! 

Me,  whom  the  closer  link  of  friendship  join'd 
To  his  expanded  heart — where  truth,  combined 
With  every  glowing  grace,  superior  shone ; 
With  me  commingle  sympathetic  tears, 
While  faithful  Memory  shall  own 
His  worth,  his  virtues,  past ! 
She  bids  retrace  the  journey  of  his  years, 
Eeview  the  path,  nor  see  a  blemish  cast. 


206  »  MELODIES. 

Flush'd  by  the  balmy  spring  of  youth,  he  rose, 
In  life's  parterre,  a  flower  of  fairest  hue ; 
Denied  affection's  fostering,  pearly  dew, 
Parental  sunshine — yet  his  tints  disclose 
Beauty  internal — fragrance  all  his  own ; 
Benevolence  conspicuous  shone, 
And  nectared  charity  distill'd 
In  grateful  odours! — Who  beheld  him  bloom 

And  yet  their  love  withheld  ? 
Who,  could  they  have  foreseen  his  early  doom, 

But  would  have  shed  anticipated  tears ; 
Withheld  the  victim  from  the  insatiate  tomb, 
If  prayers  could  hold,  for  many,  many  years? 

But  prayers,  nor  youth,  nor  virtue,  nought  avail 

Against  diseases,  ministers  of  death  ! 

The  tyrant  claims  our  forfeit  breath, 

And  who  his  claim  withstands?  Entreaties  fail! 

One  gift  alone  can  make  us  scorn  the  foe, 

Though  not  his  shaft  evade ; 
The  heavenly  gift  our  Saviour  brought  below, 

Religion.,  sweet,  celestial  maid  ! 
By  thee  sustained,  the  darkened  path  grows  bright, 
And  leads  to  realms  of  everlasting  light ! 
Cease,  then,  my  tears,  to  flow, 
Cease,  sighs,  to  murmur  wo, 
This  peerless  guide  my  friend  secured, 
While  he  the  ills  of  life  endured ; 
Cheered  by  a  seraph's  song, 
The  youth  she  led  along 


ELEGIAC.  207 

The  gloomy  path — its  roughness  fled, 

And  Terror  hid  his  grisly  head  ; 

The  gate  of  Paradise  displayed 

Cherubs  in  robes  of  light  arrayed : 
And  songs  re-echoed  through  the  empyreal  dome, 
As  heavenly  minstrels  hailed  him  welcome  home  ! 

But  selfish  sorrow  will  intrude — 
The  loss  is  ours — and  nature  will  be  heard 
Till  sorrow  is  subdued 

By  cooler  reason's unimpassioned  sway; 
The  worth  we  loved,  the  virtues  we  revered, 

We  must  lament  when  torn  away. 
So  young,  to  fall !  but  youth,  as  hoary  age, 

Finds  no  respect !  The  infant  dies 
When  scarcely  entered  on  the  stage  ; 

His  part  to  ope,  and  then  to  close  his  eyes. 
Some  claim  a  longer  scene,  and  bustle  round 
Their  little  walk,  with  rant  and  sound ; 
The  curtain  drops,  and  they  are  seen  no  more ! 

Few  labour  onward  through  the  tedious  play 
Till  life's  allotted,  farthest  verge  is  o'er, 

Then  fall  like  fruit  when  autumn  melts  away. 
Thus  is  it  ordered,  ORDER'S  Source  to  please ; 
Who  will  impeach  His  infinite  decrees  ? 

Granted,  'tis  just — yet  sympathy  must  weep — 
To  see  him  hastening  to  the  silent  dead 
Without  a  kindred  tear  of  sorrow  shed! 
Nor  bosom  where  to  fall  asleep ! 

TVnr  finrul  tn  plr»«A  Vii«  f>iro«  ' 


206  MELODIES. 

Strangers  thai  mournful  task  performed ! 
Yet  strangers  here  were  friends ;  their  tears,  their  sighs, 
From  bosoms  flowed  by  purest  feelings  warmed. 

Friends  tied  by  nature  could  no  more ; 

Nor  more  sincerely  such  a  loss  deplore. 

Might  fond  fraternal  offices  assuage 
The  pangs  of  sore  disease  ? — these  too  denied  ! 

For  ah !  a  brother  still  of  lesser  age, 
At  distance  languished,  while  his  brother  died ! 

No  tender  sister  weeping  o'er  his  bed ! 

No  anxious  father  soothing  with  his  love ! 
No  mother !  God !  I  touch  a  tender  string ! 

My  heart's  acutest  nerve — its  vital  thread  ; 

Struck  too  unkindly,  tears  of  crimson  move, 
And  wakened  sorrow  whets  her  blunted  sting ! 

O  grant,  ye  powers  that  rule  the  lives  of  all, 
If  I  am  doomed,  like  him  I  mourn,  to  fall — 
Far  from  the  bosom  of  my  home, 
Where  fate  may  call,  and  I  may  roam — 
O  grant  my  wish — may  hearts  like  those  which  bled 
O'er  Florian's  corse,  mourn  too  for  me ; 
Such  be  the  strangers  round  my  bed ; 
Such  be  the  tears  they  shed. 

Whoe'er  they  be : 
Such  be  the  sacred  care  my  ashes  find, 

When  death  has  closed  the  scene : 
Such  be  the  impression  on  the  youthful  mind, 
When  followers  round  my  grave  convene ; 
But  more  than  all — may  I,  like  him,  arise, 
And  join  my  friend  in  worlds  beyond  the  skies. 


ELEGIAC.  20S 

A    DIRGE, 

On  the  Deaths  of  John  Adams  and  Thomas  Jefferson. 
July  4,  1826. 

The  strains  of  joy  no  longer  float, 
Or  thrill  upon  our  raptured  ears, 

But  Sorrow  wakes  her  saddest  note, 
And  millions  are  dissolved  in  tears. 

A  nation,  clad  in  sable  weeds, 

The  dark  habiliments  of  grief; 
A  nation  famed  for  matchless  deeds, 

Weeps  for  a  father  and  a  chief. 

Columbia  mourns,  though  not  bereft 
Of  all  which  makes  existence  dear, 

For  blessings,  joys,  and  hopes,  are  left, 
Which  brighten  in  affliction's  tear. 

Yet  still  she  mourns — for  they  are  gone, 
Whose  wisdom  raised  her  fame  so  high, 

Whose  god-like  acts  her  name  adorn 
With  honour  that  can  never  die. 

Who  framed  that  bold,  that  dauntless  chart, 
Which  gave  a  mighty  empire  birth, 

Aroused  to  freedom  every  heart, 
And  spread  its  influence  thro'  the  earth. 


18* 


210  MELODIES. 

Who  in  her  service  laboured,  both, 
And  ask'd  no  recompense  but  this, 

To  watch  her  greatness  in  its  growth, 
Promote  her  fame,  and  share  her  bliss. 

And  Heaven  vouchsafed  to  grant  the  boon 
'Till  half  a  century  had  passed, 

Until  her  sun  had  reached  its  noon, 
There  to  be  fixed  while  time  shall  last. 

Then  burst,  with  joy,  their  mighty  hearts, 
And  set  their  raptured  spirits  free, 

So  Sol,  in  flood  of  light,  departs, 
And  sets  in  glory's  dazzling  sea. 

In  peace  the  reverend  sages  slept, 

Adorned  with  honours,  crowned  with  years, 

And  angels  smiled,  while  nature  wept, 
A  silvery  shower  of  sparkling  tears. 

Then,  freemen,  mourn — but  not  as  those 
Whose  hopes  are  laid  beneath  the  sod, 

For  your  lamented  chiefs  repose 
Upon  the  bosorn  of  their  God. 

Mourn  for  the  worth  which  all  admired, 
Now  crowned  with  heavenly  diadem, 

And  be  with  emulation  fired 
To  live,  to  act,  to  die,  like  them. 


ELEGIAC.  211 

A    MONODY, 

On  the  Deaths  of  the  Ex-Presidents,  John  Adams,  and 
Thomas  Jefferson,  July  4,  1826. 

The  mid-day  peal  of  joy  had  rung, 

When  Sol,  in  his  car  of  glory, 
A  radiant  glance  from  the  zenith  flung, 

On  a  spot  far  famed  in  story. 

He  gazed  on  the  scene,  but  sought  in  vain 

For  that  band  of  patriot  sages, 
Whose  deathless  names  alone  remain, 

Emblazoned  on  History's  pages. 

All,  all  were  gone,  but  the  godlike  THREE 

Revered  by  a  grateful  nation, 
And  they  were  our  Adams,  our  Carroll,  and  he 

Who  drafted  the  DECLARATION. 

He  thought  of  the  time,  when  in  deep  despair, 

Columbia's  troops  were  receding, 
For  millions  were  now  rejoicing  where 

Her  heroes  then  lay  bleeding ! 

"  Tis  done !"  he  cried,  "  and  this  JUBILEE 
"  Shall  long  be  remembered  in  story, 

"  For  TWO  of  the  patriot  godlike  THREE, 
"  Shall  depart  in  this  blaze  of  glory." 


212  MELODIES. 

He  said,  and  amidst  the  joy  and  mirth, 

(For  the  mandate  had  been  given,) 
The  spirit  of  JEFFERSON  rose  from  earth, 

To  meet  its  reward  in  Heaven. 

He  soared  on  high,  to  his  place  of  rest, 

With  cherubim  attendants, 
And  he  smiling  soared,  for  his  country  was  biesi 

With  FREEDOM  and  INDEPENDENCE. 

One  glance  of  love  was  downward  cast, 

Like  a  beam  of  celestial  glory, 
O'er  Quincy's  reverend  sage  it  pass'd, 

Renowned  like  himself,  in  story. 

He  felt  the  ray,  and  his  mighty  heart 

Burst  with  the  sweet  emotion, 
'Twas  the  year  and  the  day  he  had  prayed  to  depart 

In  the  fervour  of  pure  devotion. 

Together  they  gained  the  elysium  bower, 

By  angels  received  with  gladness, 
While  nature  wept  in  a  silvery  shower, 

But  not  with  tears  of  sadness. 

Together  they  toiled  for  their  country's  good, 

In  her  darkest  hour  of  danger, 
Together  the  arm  of  oppression  withstood, 

Each  heart  to  fear  a  stranger. 


RELIGIOUS.  213 

Together  they  soared  to  realms  of  bliss, 

In  a  world  of  fadeless  splendour ; 
Together  their  names  shall  live  in  this 

While  LIBERTY  has  a  defender. 


HAPPINESS. 

An  Extract  from  Quarter-Day. 

Who  then  is  happy  ?  Ere  she  close  the  strain, 
The  muse  herself  shall  answer.     'Tis  the  man 
(Of  easy  fortune  and  a  generous  heart) 
Whose  charity  by  wisdom  is  directed ; 
Who  loves  his  God,  his  neighbour,  and  himself, 
In  just  descending  order ;  whose  employ 
Is  doing  good  to  others ;  whose  reward, 
The  bright  reflection  of  the  joy  he  gives. 
Like  a  mild  taper  in  a  diamond  lustre, 
Which  multiplies  one  little  ray  to  thousands, 
His  means  of  blessing  still  increase  by  use. 
Not  all  the  Horrors  of  thejlrst  of  May^ 
Can  shake  the  solid  peace  of  such  a  man. 
The  changing  seasons,  times,  events,  and  all 
The  various  scenes  that  chequer  human  life, 
And  e'en  the  chilling  adverse  storms  of  fate, 
Serve  but  to  ripen  the  celestial  fruits 
His  active  love  produces ;  draughts  of  bliss 
He  quaffs  for  every  little  taste  he  gives, 
And  finds  a  heaven  in  wishing  others  there. 
To  seek  for  happiness  in  things  of  sense, 


214  FOEMS. 

in  wealth,  ambition,  pleasure,  or  supineness, 

Is  but  a  vain  exertion — idle  hope  5 

For  then  we  chase  a  transitory  cheat, 

And  leave  the  game,  the  real  prize,  behind, 

Hid  in  contentment's  calm  sequestered  vale, 

While  we  toil  up  the  mountain's  rugged  side, 

Tempting  new  dangers,  and  exposed  to  all 

The  storms  that  beat  ambition's  bleaker  road; 

Or  perils  worse  than  these,  concealed  beneath 

The  treacherous  sweets  that  bloom  in  pleasure's  path, 

A  thousand  serpent-stings,  unseen,  but  fatal. 

And  if  in  dastard  indolence  we  rest, 

Our  lazy  hopes  are  certain  of  defeat. 

Then  learn  the  true,  the  only  real  source 

Whence  happiness  can  flow —  a  precept  drawn 

From  holy  writ  this  heavenly  source  proclaims — 

"  To  fear  the  Lord,  and  his  commands  obey, 

Is  man's  whole  duty,"  in  u.  single  line ; 

An  easy  yoke,  a  burthen  light  to  bear. 

'Tis  but  to  love  in  heart  and  action  both — 

For  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law. 


EPIGRAM. 

"  'Tis  priestcraft  all,"  the  impious  atheist  cries, 
"  The  world  was  made  by  chance— the  Bible  lies !' 
Twere  useless  such  assertions  to  repel ; 
But  what  if  chance  has  also  made  a  hell  ? 


RELIGIOUS.  215 

CONSECRATION. 

Jesus  is  God,  and  God  alone, 

O,  be  this  TRUTH  confest, 
For  'tis  the  sure  foundation  stone 

On  which  the  church  shall  rest. 

Though  modern  builders  pass  it  by, 

And  scribes  and  priests  reject, 
On  this  blest  TRUTH,  which  they  deny, 

We  now  the  church  erect. 

Though  earth  and  hell  against  it  join, 

Yet  must  this  building  rise ; 
The  work,  Almighty  God,  is  thine, 

And  wondrous  in  our  eyes. 


FLORIAN'S  GRAVE. 

Extract  from  a  Poem  entitled  New-Haven. 

Here  while  I  stray,  beneath  this  poplar  gloom, 
Friendship  demands  a  tear  for  yonder  tomb  ; 
Where,  freed  from  all  the  cares  that  life  attend, 
Reclines  fair  Virtue's  and  the  Muses'  friend. 
When  first  these  grateful  scenes  allured  mine  eyes, 
He  taught  me  where  to  rove,  and  what  to  prize  ; 
When  pensive  Vesper  led  the  starry  train, 
And  Cynthia's  splendours  mark'd  the  eastern  main, 
Here  would  we  ramble,  while  the  sighing  breeze 


216  MELODIES. 

Waved  the  tall  verdure  and  disturb'd  the  trees ; 
Weave  in  our  converse  threads  of  moral  thought, 
And  scan  the  truths  surrounding  emblems  taught ; 
Then  with  warm  ardour  dart  our  rapid  view 
Through  present  clouds  to  scenes  of  brighter  hue ; 
Anticipated  joys  we  hoped  to  share, 
And  in  imagination  revell'd  there ; 
Laid  future  plans  of  happiness  and  ease, 
When  love  and  fortune  would  unite  to  please  ; 
With  rapture  dwelt  upon  the  grateful  theme, 
And  with  regret  dismiss'd  the  waking  dream. 
Yes,  'twas  a  dream !  and  I  remain  to  prove 
That  both  were  shadows,  promised  wealth  and  love, 
Whilst  thou  wcrt  call'd  from  visionary  scenes 
To  real  pleasures  and  eternal  greens, 
Ere  sad  experience  taught  the  cruel  truth 
That  shadows  only  tempted  ardent  youth. 
Florian  !  'tis  mine  to  wish  that  Heaven's  decree 
Had  snatch' d  us  both  from  this  tempestuous  sea, 
That  life  had  ended  ere  despair  begun, 
And,  as  below  our  hopes,  above  our  joys  been  one. 


POEMS. 


XOJSCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


AN    ODE, 

For  the  Grand  Canal  Celebration,  November  4, 1825 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done ! — The  mighty  chain 
Which  joins  bright  ERIE  to  the  MAIN, 
For  ages,  shall  perpetuate 
The  glory  of  our  native  State. 

Tis  done ! — Proud  ART  o'er  NATURE  has  prevailed ! 

GENIUS  and  PERSEVERANCE  have  succeeded! 
Though  selfish  PREJUDICE  assailed, 

And  honest  PRUDENCE  pleaded. 

'Tis  donel — The  monarch  of  the  briny  tide, 

Whose  giant  arm  encircles  earth, 
To  virgin  ERIE  is  allied, 

A  bright-eyed  nymph  of  •  mountain  birth. 

To-day,  the  Sire  of  Ocean  takes 

A  sylvan  maiden  to  his  arms, 
The  goddess  of  the  crystal  lakes, 

In  all  her  native  charms ! 
19 


218  POEMS. 

She  comes !  attended  by  a  sparkling  train ; 

The  Naiads  of  the  West  her  nuptials  grace ; 
She  meets  the  sceptred  father  of  the  main, 

And  in  his  heaving  bosom  hides  her  virgin  face. 

Rising  from  their  watery  cells, 
Tritons  sport  upon  the  tide, 
And  gaily  blow  their  trumpet-shells, 

In  honour  of  the  bride. 
Sea-nymphs  leave  their  coral  caves, 
Deep  beneath  the  ocean-waves, 
Where  they  string,  with  tasteful  care, 
Pearls  upon  their  sea-green  hair. 

Thetis'  virgin  train  advances, 
Mingling  in  the  bridal  dances ; 
Jove,  himself,  with  raptured  eye, 
Throws  his  forked  thunders  by, 

And  bids  Apollo  seize  his  golden  lyre, 
A  strain  of  joy  to  wake; 

While  Fame  proclaims  that  Ocean's  Sire 
Is  wedded  to  the  goddess  of  the  Lake. 
The  smiling  god  of  song  obeys, 

And  heaven  re-echoes  with  his  sounding  lays. 

"  All  hail  to  the  ART  which  unshackles  the  soul ! 

And  fires  it  with  love  of  glory ! 
And  causes  the  victor,  who  reaches  the  goal, 

To  live  in  deathless  story ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  219 

"  Which  teaches  young  Genius  to  rise  from  earth, 

On  fancy's  airy  pinion, 
To  assert  the  claims  of  its  heavenly  birth, 

And  seize  on  its  blest  dominion. 

"  The  ART  which  the  banner  of  Truth  unfurl'd, 

When  darkness  veiled  each  nation, 
And  prompted  Columbus  to  seek  a  new  world 

On  the  unexplored  map  of  creation. 

"  Which  lighted  the  path  of  the  pilgrim  band, 

Who  braved  the  storms  of  ocean, 
To  seek,  in  a  wild  and  distant  land, 

The  freedom  of  pure  devotion. 

"  Which  kindled,  on  Freedom's  shrine,  a  flame 

That  will  glow  through  future  ages, 
And  cover  with  glory  and  endless  fame 

Columbia's  immortal  sages. 

"  The  ART  which  enabled  her  FRANKLIN  to  prove, 

And  solve  each  mystic  wonder ! 
To  arrest  the  forked  shafts  of  Jove, 

And  play  with  his  bolts  of  thunder. 

"  The  ART,  which  enables  her  sons  to  aspire, 

Beyond  all  the  wonders  in  story ; 
For  an  unshackled  PRESS  is  the  pillar  of  fire 

Which  lights  them  to  Freedom  and  Glory. 


220  POEMS. 

"  'Tis  this  which  called  forth  the  immortal  decree, 
And  gave  the  great  work  its  first  motion ; 

'Tis  done !  by  the  hands  of  the  brave  and  free, 
And  ERIE  is  link'd  to  the  OCEAN. 

"  Then  hail  fco  the  ART  which  unshackles  the  soul, 

And  fires  it  with  love  of  glory, 
And  causes  the  victor  who  reaches  the  goal, 

To  live  in  deathless  story." 

Such  strains — if  earthly  strains  may  be 

Compared  to  his  who  tunes  a  heavenly  lyre — 

Are  warbled  by  the  bright-haired  deity, 
While  listening  orbs  admire. 

Such  strains  shall  unborn  millions  yet  awake, 
While,  with  her  golden  trumpet,  smiling  Fame 

Proclaims  the  union  of  the  Mam  and  Lake, 
And  on  her  scroll  emblazons  CLINTON'S  name. 


OUR    NATIVE    LAND. 

In  this  vast  rising  empire  of  the  west, 
With  freedom,  science,  fame,  and  plenty  blest, 
Where  earthly  comforts  in  profusion  flow, 
Each  virtuous  bosom  must  with  rapture  glow; 
For  here,  where  Liberty  her  fane  has  built, 
No  grief  is  found,  but  in  the  path  of  guilt ; 
No  pains,  nor  fears,  the  good  man's  heart  annoy, 
No  tears  are  shed  but  those  of  sympathy  or  joy. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE    HUNTERS    OF    KENTUCKY. 

Air — Miss  Bailey. 

Ye  gentlemen  and  ladies  fair, 

Who  grace  this  famous  city, 
Just  listen,  if  ye've  time  to  spare, 

While  I  rehearse  a  ditty ; 
And  for  the  opportunity, 

Conceive  yourselves  quite  lucky, 
For  :tis  not  often  that  you  see, 

A  hunter  from  Kentucky. 
Oh !  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky, 

The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

We  are  a  hardy  free-born  race, 

Each  man  to  fear  a  stranger, 
Whate'er  the  game,  we  join  in  chase, 

Despising  toil  and  danger ; 
And  if  a  daring  foe  annoys, 

Whate'er  his  strength  and  forces, 
We'll  show  him  that  Kentucky  boys 

Are  "  alligator  horses." 
Oh !  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky, 

The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

I  s'pose  you've  read  it  in  the  prints, 

How  Packenham  attempted 
To  make  Old  Hickory  JACKSON  wince, 

But  soon  his  scheme  repented ; 


MELODIES. 

For  we  with  rifles  ready  cock'd, 
Thought  such  occasion  lucky, 

And  soon  around  the  General  flock'd 
The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

You've  heard,  I  s'pose,  how  New-Orleans 

Is  famed  for  wealth  and  beauty — 
There's  girls  of  every  hue,  it  seems, 

From  snowy  white  to  sooty : 
So  Packenham  he  made  his  brags, 

If  he  in  fight  was  lucky, 
He'd  have  their  girls  and  cotton  bags, 

In  spite  of  Old  Kentucky. 

Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

But  JACKSON,  he  was  wide  awake, 

And  was'nt  scared  at  trifles ; 
For  well  he  knew  what  aim  we  take, 

With  our  Kentucky  rifles ; 
So  he  led  us  down  to  Cypress  swamp, 

The  ground  was  low  and  mucky ; 
There  stood  John  Bull,  in  martial  pomp, 

And  here  was  Old  Kentucky. 
Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

A  bank  was  raised  to  hide  our  breast, 
Not  that  we  thought  of  dying, 

But  then  we  always  like  to  rest, 
Unless  the  game  is  flying ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  223 

Behind  it  stood  our  little  force — 

None  wished  it  to  be  greater, 
For  every  man  was  half  a  horse, 

And  half  an  alligator. 

Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

They  did  not  let  our  patience  tire, 

Before  they  showed  their  faces — 
We  did  not  choose  to  waste  our  fire, 

So  snugly  kept  our  places ; 
But  when  so  near  we  saw  them  wink, 

We  thought  it  time  to  stop  them ; 
And  'twould  have  done  you  good,  I  think, 

To  see  Kentucky  pop  them. 
Oh !  Kentucky,  &c. 

They  found  at  last  'twas  vain  to  fight 

Where  lead  was  all  their  booty, 
And  so  they  wisely  took  to  flight, 

And  left  us  all  the  beauty. 
And  now,  if  danger  e'er  annoys, 

Remember  what  our  trade  is, 
Just  send  for  us  Kentucky  boys, 

And  we'll  protect  you,  Ladies. 
Oh!  Kentucky,  &c. 

That  vast  extensive  region  of  the  west, 
So  long  by  Spanish  tyranny  oppress'd, 
Has  risen  in  her  might,  and  bravely  broke 
Her  galling  shackles  and  degrading  yoke. 


224  POEMS. 

PRIZE    ADDRESS, 

On  the  Opening  of  the  La  F&yette  Circus,  for  which  was 
awarded  a  Silver  Cup,  of  Fifty  Dollars  value. 

The  cultured  mind,  accustomed  to  explore 
And  taste  the  choicest  sweets  of  classic  lore, 
With  rapture  dwells  on  each  inspiring  lay 
That  paints  the  sports  of  Grecia's  proudest  day  ; 
When  the  throng' d  stadium  rang  with  loud  acclaims, 
To  hail  the  victor  in  her  manly  games  ; 
Those  daring  feats  which  famed  Alcides  taught, 
To  nerve  the  limb,  and  elevate  the  thought ; 
Feats  which  the  royal  Iphitus  restored, 
And  consecrated  to  the  powers  adored  ; 
Which  gave  to  Greece  a  wreath  of  fadeless  bloom, 
And  raised  the  glory  of  imperial  Rome. 

There,  the  fleet  courser,  with  an  eye  of  flame, 
Bold,  like  his  rider — and  as  proud  of  fame. 
Impatient  champ'd  the  bit,  or  pawed  the  ground, 
With  ear  erect,  to  catch  the  trumpet's  sound ; 
Then,  with  a  speed  that  mock'd  the  passing  wind, 
Spurn'd  the  dull  earth,  and  left  the  world  behind. 
And  with  him  flew — erect  upon  his  feet ! 
The  bold  equestrian,  through  the  furious  heat, 
Reckless  of  danger — (such  are  Grecians  still) — 
The  rein  submitted  to  the  courser's  will, 
While,  at  the  target,  with  unerring  art, 
The  fearless  rider  threw  the  whizzing  dart ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  2 

Or,  with  a  harness' d  pair,  of  equal  speed, 
Vaulted  with  matchless  grace,  from  steed  to  steed, 
While  mingled  sounds  of  wonder  and  applause 
Proclaimed  the  deepest  interest  in  his  cause ; 
Till,  past  the  goal,  and  claimant  of  the  prize, 
When  peals  of  acclamation  pierced  the  skies. 

With  feats  like  these,  to  charm  the  present  age, 
And  join  the  stadium  to  the  modern  stage ; 
To  elevate  the  pleasures  of  the  ring, 
By  every  aid  dramatic  art  can  bring — 
For  this,  you  see,  another  fabric  reared 
Where  late  a  dreary,  barren  waste  appeared  ! 
For  this,  kind  patrons,  we  would  humbly  sue, 
To  dedicate  the  tasteful  fane  to  you. 

Here  shall  Latona's  bright-hair'd  son  impart 
The  sweetest  lessons  of  his  tuneful  art ; 
Here  may  the  eye  of  taste  admire  the  speed, 
And  graceful  prowess,  of  the  generous  steed ; 
And  here,  in  pleased  astonishment,  may  scan 
The  still  more  wondrous  active  powers  of  man. 
Here,  studious  votaries  of  the  classic  page 
May  view  the  feats  of  Grecia's  golden  age ; 
Feats  which  secured  the  victors  of  the  game 
Unfading  honours,  and  a  deathless  fame ; 
Inspired  her  youth  with  that  chivalric  glow 
Which  urged  them  onward  to  subdue  the  foe ; 
Which  fired  her  sons  with  emulative  zeal, 
To  rise  the  guardians  of  their  country's  weal ; 


226  POEMS. 

To  which  she  owed  the  glory  of  her  state, 
And  that  unconquered  pride  which  made  her  great; 
Preserved  her  freedom — gained  the  world's  applause, 
And  prompts  her  now  to  be  what  then  she  was. 

And  if  like  causes  like  effects  produce, 
If  you  admit  the  stadium's  wondrous  use, 
May  not  a  thousand  equal  blessings  spring 
From  such  achievements  as  shall  grace  our  ring? 
May  not  our  patriot  youth,  who  here  perceive 
What  sprightliness  and  courage  can  achieve, 
Be  fired  with  emulation  to  command 
**  The  fiery  steed,  and  train  him  to  their  hand !" 
To  vault,  like  feathered  Hermes,  on  his  back, 
And  fearless  guide  him  to  the  fierce  attack ; 
To  wield  the  sabre,  or  direct  the  dart, 
And  boldly  practice  each  equestrian  art ; 
To  wrestle,  leap,  or  throw  the  ponderous  quoit, 
And  bear  away  the  palm  in  each  exploit  ? 

Yes,  generous  patrons — thus  our  gallant  youth, 
Champions  of  freedom,  honour,  love,  and  truth, 
Will  learn  to  guard  the  sacred  rights  you  prize, 
And  raise  Columbia's  glory  to  the  skies ; 
In  every  clime  behold  her  flag  unfurl'd, 
Till  Freedom's  golden  star  shall  light  the  world. 


The  cross  is  rear'd,  the  Turkish  cresent  wanes, 
Grecia  no  more  shall  wear  a  despot's  chains. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  227 

-WASHINGTON'S    BIRTH. 

Air— Hail  to  the  Chief. 

Bright  were  her  smiles,  when  the  blushing  Aurora, 

Greeted  the  newly-born  hope  of  the  west ; 
Phrebus,  advancing  in  chariot  of  glory, 

Gazed  with  delight  on  the  infantile  guest ; 
Seraphs,  commission'd  to  watch  o'er  his  slumbers, 

Shake  from  their  pinions  the  odours  of  bliss  ; 
While,  in  the  softest  and  sweetest  of  numbers, 
Hark !  they  are  chanting  an  anthem  like  this : — 
Bright  heir  of  endless  fame, 
Thine  be  a  deathless  name, 
Thine  be  a  glory  to  brighten  the  earth  ; 
Then  shall  a  nation  join, 
Round  Freedom's  sacred  shrine, 
Hailing  the  day  of  our  WASHINGTON'S  birth. 

Fame  heard  the  chorus,  and  braided  the  laurel, 

Mars  caught  the  tidings,  and  burnished  his  shield 
Ruthless  Bellona  prepared  for  the  quarrel, 

Justice  presented  her  sword  for  the  field  ; 
Jove,  from  Olympus,  beheld  and  commended, 

Armed  his  own  eagle  in  Liberty's  cause  ; 
Pallas,  the  goddess  of  wisdom,  descended, 
Bearing  the  new  Constitution  and  Laws : — 
While  o'er  her  hills  and  plains, 
Swell'd  these  seraphic  strains, 
Rise,  blest  Columbia,  the  Queen  of  the  Earth ; 


228  MELODIES. 

Soon  shall  your  tyrants  flee, 
Soon  shall  your  sons  be  free, 
Hail  to  the  day  of  your  WASHINGTON'S  birth. 

Hope  smiled  extatic,  while  Freedom,  delighted, 

Fix'd  on  a  scite  for  her  temple  to  stand ; 
There  is  her  altar  erected  and  lighted, 

Thence  does  its  splendour  illumine  the  land ; 
Hail  an  event  of  such  glory  and  splendour, 

Waken  your  paeans  to  Washington's  name ; 
Champion  of  Freedom,  our  nation's  defender, 
Hero  and  statesman,  eternal  his  fame; 
Still  round  our  verdant  plains, 
Swell  these  seraphic  strains, 
Rise,  blest  Columbia,  the  Queen  of  the  Earth  - 
Still  shall  a  nation  join, 
Round  Freedom's  sacred  shrine, 
Hail  to  the  day  of  our  WASHINGTON'S  birth. 


TO    AMY. 

What  if  the  awful  mandate  should  be  given, 

By  Him  who  spoke  creation  into  birth, 
To  blot  for  ever  from  the  map  of  heaven, 

The  polar  star — would  this  enamoured  earth 
Still  pay  its  adoration  to  the  spot 
Where  once  it  twinkled  ?  Banish  such  a  thought- 
Believe  me,  dearest  Amy,  it  would  not. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  229 

And  would  the  widowed  needle  still  present 
Its  polished  point,  to  where  that  planet  shone  ? 

Would  all  its  mystic  powers  be  idly  spent, 
Its  homage  paid  to  vacancy  alone, 

While  Love's  warm  star  was  beaming  in  the  west  ? 

O  no — its  influence  soon  would  be  confest, 

And,  till  it  pointed  there,  the  trembler  would  not  rest. 

Such  is  the  heart — its  favourite  star  is  gone, 
And  is  it  doomed  to  tremble  without  rest  ? 
O,  must  such  matchless  beauty  waste  alone, 
Designed  by  heaven  to  make  a  lover  blest  ? 
O,  no,  dear  girl !  defeat  not  heaven's  design, 
Reward  my  love,  O,  say  thou  wilt  be  mine, 
Or  give  me  leave  to  hope,  and  I  will  not  repine. 


NEWSPAPERS. 

A  Paraphrase  on  part  of  Cowper's  Task. 

'Tis  pleasant,  through  the  loop-holes  of  retreat, 
(So  Cowper  sang,  in  strains  divinely  sweet,) 
To  peep  at  such  a  world ;  and  as  it  turns, 
Survey  at  ease,  the  globe  and  its  concerns ; 
To  seem  advanced  to  more  than  mortal  height, 
With  this  vast  spherule  rolling  in  your  sight ; 
To  view  the  noisy  Babel  from  a  cloud, 
Behold  the  bustle,  and  not  feel  the  crowd ; 
To  he'ar  the  mighty  din  she  sends  around, 
At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dying  sound 
20 


230  POEMS. 

Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  the  uninjured  ear, 
And  thus  to  scan  the  whole  without  a  fear. 
The  sound  of  war,  if  such  a  scene  you  view, 
Loses  its  terrors  ere  it  reaches  you ; 
And  desolation,  caused  by  hostile  arms, 
Excites  your  pity,  grieves,  but  not  alarms ; 
Perhaps  you  mourn  the  avarice  and  pride 
That  render  man  a  cruel  fratricide ; 
And  at  the  echo  of  those  thunders  start, 
In  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heart ; 
Perhaps  you  wonder  as  it  floats  around, 
And  sigh,  but  never  tremble,  at  the  sound. 

As  roves  the  bee,  when  vernal  flowers  expand, 
So  roves  the  traveller  from  land  to  land, 
Where  manners,  customs,  policy,  and  scenes, 
Pay  contributions  to  the  stores  he  gleans ; 
Still  like  the  bee,  in  Summer's  blushing  prime, 
He  sucks  intelligence  from  every  clime ; 
And  on  returning  to  his  native  shores, 
He  thus  spreads  out  his  hoarded  honied  stores, 
And  welcomes  all — a  rich  repast  for  you, 
For  as  he  travelled,  you  can  travel  too ; 
Ascend  his  topmast,  through  his  piercing  eyes 
Behold  new  countries  in  the  distance  rise  : 
With  sympathising  feeling,  tread  his  deck, 
Or  cling,  in  terror,  to  the  midnight  wreck ! 
With  kindred  heart,  you  suffer  all  his  woes, 
Share  his  escapes,  his  comforts,  and  repose. 
Thus  may  your  fancy  the  great  circuit  roam, 
While  (like  a  dial's  index)  safe  at  home. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  231 

p 

THE    SOLAR    SYSTEM. 

Suggested  by  viewing  Mr.  Goodacre's  Grand  Orrery. 

Behold  yon  orbs,  in  paths  harmonious,  run 

Their  destined  courses  round  the  parent  sun ; 

Grand  correspondent  of  that  sun  above, 

Whose  light  is  wisdom,  and  whose  heat  is  love. 

There  terra  rolls — a  speck  upon  the  sky, 

Less  than  a  speck  to  some  more  distant  eye ; 

Suppose,  that  on  the  surface  of  that  ball 

Myriads  of  little  thinking  insects  crawl, 

Whose  trembling  spark  of  life,  at  longest,  burns 

While  round  the  sun  they  make  an  hundred  turns 

And  then  expire  ;  suppose  your  eye  could  trace 

The  various  movements  of  this  tiny  race  ; 

Suppose  you  saw  a  few  ambitious  mites 

Attempt  to  lord  it  o'er  their  fellows'  rights  ; 

Or  view'd  a  host,  who  placed  their  hope  and  trust 

In  hoarding  glittering  grains  of  yellow  dust ; 

Or  thousands,  whose  ambition  but  aspired 

To  see  their  gaudy  hues  awhile  admired ; 

Or  millions,  whose  less  innocent  intents, 

Concentrate  in  the  groveling  joys  of  sense — 

Would  you  not  think  they  marr'd  their  Maker's  plan? 

Then  blush,  proud  mortal — such,  alas !  is  man : 

Such  follies,  or  such  crimes,  apply  to  all 

The  busy  insects  of  our  native  ball — 

And  were  not  aid  divine  in  mercy  given, 

Each  had  forever  lost  his  destined  Heaven. 


232  POEMS. 

But  think  not,  vainly,  that  the  human  race 
Is  limited  to  such  contracted  space  ; 
Dream  not  that  those  bright  orbs  were  set  on  high, 
To  run  their  various  courses  through  the  sky, 
For  ornament  alone — ignoble  thought, 
To  reason  listen,  and  be  better  taught  J 
Know  that  Eternal  Love  conceived  the  plan, 
And  love  eternal  rests  at  last  on  man ; 
For  each  effect  its  energies  produce, 
Is  wrought  by  wisdom,  and  its  end  is  use  ; 
Hence  learn  that  every  moving  twinkling  light 
That  decks  the  azure  vault  of  heaven,  at  night, 
Is  round  a  central  sun  resistless  hurl'd, 
Itself  a  ponderous  globe — a  peopled  world: 
A  world,  perhaps,  unstained  by  crime  or  blood, 
Where  social  love  prefers  its  neighbour's  good ; 
Where  every  joy  derives  its  sweetest  zest 
From  the  fond  wish  of  making  others  blest 
Where  Heaven-born  charity  exerts  her  powers — 
A  world  of  bliss,  as  man  might  render  ours. 
Such  peopled  orbs  in  countless  numbers  fly 
In  never-varying  order  through  the  sky ; 
And  all  with  one  accordant  voice  proclaim, 
The  power  which  made  and  still  supports  their  frame* 

Presumptuous  Atheist !  if  such  wretch  exist, 
Can  thy  vain  reasoning  proofs  like  these  resist  ? 
Say,  can  these  planets,  in  harmonious  dance, 
Perform  their  revolutions  thus  by  chance  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  233 

Perish  the  thought ! — rise  from  thy  native  clod, 
Renounce  thy  error,  and  confess  a  God. 
For  though  with  every  mortal  honour  clad, 
"  An  undevout  Astronomer  is  mad ;" 
Conviction  seals  thy  lips — presume  no  more, 
But  in  mute  wonder  tremble  and  adore. 


TO    HARRIET. 

New-York,  January  1st,  1825. 

'Twas  near  that  "witching  time  of  night, 
When  spectres  walk,  and  poets  write  ; 
The  play  was  out,  the  shops  were  closed, 
And  all  the  labouring  world  reposed ; 
The  waning  moon  was  yet  asleep, 
Or  had  not  risen  from  the  deep  ; 
The  Bridewell's  trusty  sentinel 
Had  cried  aloud  that  all  was  well! 
And  some  one,  near  the  Debtor's  Jail, 
Had  echoed  back  the  lying  tale  ! 
When,  in  my  elbow-chair  reclined, 
The  form  of  Harriet  cross'd  my  mind, 
And  I  resolved  to  frame  a  lay, 
Addressed  to  her,  on  New-Year's  day  : 
But  strove  in  vain— for  every  Muse 
Appeared  determined  to  refuse 
The  smallest  favour  I  could  ask— 
And  I  resign'd  the  hopeless  task  ; 

20* 


234  POEMS. 

Sank  backward  in  my  crazy  chair, 
The  haggard  picture  of  despair ! 

When,  suddenly,  my  vision  failed! 
And  such  a  sound  my  ears  assailed, 
As  filled  my  trembling  heart  with  dread, 
And  shook  the  rafters  o'er  my  head ! 
(Tis  true,  just  then,  I  can't  deny, 
Four  hackney  coaches  thundered  by;) 
Grimalkin  gave  a  dreadful  scream ! 
(She  might  have  had  a  frightful  dream ;) 
And  Pug  emitted  such  a  groan, 
As  if  some  cur  had  stole  his  bone ! 
I  felt  my  creeping  blood  recoil ! 
The  lamp  burnt  blue !— (it  wanted  oil ;) 
My  bristling  hair  now  stood  erect ! 
(For  lack  of  combing,  I  suspect ;) 
My  eye-balls,  in  their  sockets,  glared ! 
A  certain  sign  that  I  was  scared. 
I  listened,  still,  in  breathless  dread, 
To  hear  the  slow  and  heavy  tread 
Of  some  ascending  footstep  near, 
Which  fell  like  lead  upon  my  ear  ! 
Nor  listened  long — my  garret  door, 
Which  has  been  safely  latched  before, 
Without  a  touch,  wide  open  flew ! 
And  what  a  spectre  met  my  view ! 

An  old  decrepid  sage  appeared, 
With  hollow  cheek,  and  snowy  beard ; 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  wrinkled  forehead,  soaring  high 
Above  a  deeply-sunken  eye  ; 
With  head  quite  bald,  except  before, 
Where  one  long  silver  lock  he  wore  ; 
One  arm  a  ponderous  scythe  sustained, 
One  hand  an  hour-glass,  almost  drained, 
In  which  the  sand  was  wasting  fast — 
(The  recent  year  was  almost  past;) 
'Twas  father  TIME! — I  knew  him  well, 
And  hailed  him  welcome  to  my  cell ; 
Intreating  him  awhile  to  stop, 
To  warm  his  hands,  and  take  a  drop. 

;'  Time  never  stops .'"  he  hoarsely  cried, 
"  For  no  one  tarries  time  nor  tide  ! 
Though  all  abuse  me,  as  I  pass, 
And  strive  to  break  my  scythe  and  glass  ; 
Though  all  misuse  and  treat  me  ill, 
Yet  I  keep  jogging  forward  still. 
But  having  ever  met  from  you 
That  courtesy,  to  old  age  due, 
Which  you  are  exercising  now, 
(I  smiled,  and  made  my  prettiest  bow,) 
I  felt  inclined,  in  passing  by, 
To  let  you  know  the  reason  why 
The  Muses  came  not  at  your  call — 
They're  going  to  the  New-Year's  ball, 
For  which  they  practised  all  last  week, 
And  at  this  moment,  while  I  speak, 


236  POEMS. 

Are  chatting,  though  'tis  dark  and  misty, 
With  fair  Langlois  and  lively  Christie ; 
And  then,  at  such  an  hour,  you  know, 
'Tis  requisite  to  have  a  beau  ; 
Of  course,  it  naturally  will  follow, 
That  their  gallant  is  gay  Apollo. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  you,  in  vain, 
Have  summoned  this  Parnassian  train ; 
For  let  the  fair  but  scent  a  ball, 
And  all,  but  Death,  may  vainly  call. 

"  But  fare  you  well !  I  cannot  stay, 
For  ere  these  sands  have  run  away, 
The  custom-house  of  Heaven  will  clear 
Jin  out-bound  ship — the  good  Old-  Year  ; 
And  there's  another  one,  I  learn, 
Belonging  to  the  same  concern, 
Full  freighted,  just  come  in  from  sea, 
Arrived  below,  consigned  to  me ; 
And  ere  the  hour  of  twelve  be  toll'd, 
Her  precious  cargo  must  be  sold ; 
Comprising  minutes,  hours,  and  days, 
And  other  goods  above  all  praise ; 
Put  up  in  lots,  as  each  prefers, 
To  suit  all  sorts  of  purchasers  , 
A  day,  a  week,  a  month,  or  year, 
And  I  must  play  the  Auctioneer. 
Come  with  me,  and  attend  the  sale, 
'Twill  serve  you  for  a  new-year's  tale, 
Your  Harriet's  fancy  to  regale. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  *37 

No  sooner  had  the  spectre  spoke, 
Than  quick  I  seized  my  hat  and  cloak, 
And  sallied  forth,  with  hope  inspired — 
The  citizens  had  all  retired, 
One  "  guardian  of  the  night"  except, 
Who  on  a  stoop  securely  slept. 
My  sage  companion  tottered  on, 
Exclaiming — "  Going  ! — going ! — gone ! 
A  YEAR,  in  months,  or  weeks,ybr  sale  I 
Who  bids  for  part,  or  all  the  hale  ! 
What  for  an  hour  ? — or  twenty-four  ? 
With  privilege  of  taking  more ! 
Who  bids ! — the  sale's  without  reserve, 
And  none  must  from  the  contract  swerve." 

"  Put  up,"  exclaimed  a  bright-wing'd  elf, 
"  Each  moonlight  evening  by  itself; 
The  summer  ones  so  much  I  prize, 
I'll  bid  a  thousand  tender  sighs." 
"  Once  !  twice !  a  going ! — who  bids  more  !" 
Grief  added  to  the  sum  a  score, 
With  twenty  thousand  tears  beside. 
Philosophy  stept  up  with  pride, 
And  offered  for  each  cloudless  night. 
Twelve  problems,  which  he — meant  to  write. 

Poor  Poetry  approached  the  scene, 
With  threadbare  coat,  and  pensive  rnein, 
A  brimful  heart,  and  empty  purse. 
And  bid  two  thousand  feet  of— verse ! 


233  POEMS. 

Old  Time,  who  took  the  wink  from  me, 
Knock'd  down  the  lot  to  Poetry, 
Who  would  no  article  remove, 
Till  he  had  shared  the  whole  with  Love ! 

Another  lot,  of  darker  hue, 
The  salesman  next  held  up  to  view, 
Exclaiming,  as  he  shook  his  glass — 
'*  Here's  goods  of  quite  a  different  class ; 
A  lot  of  nights,  in  cloudy  weather, 
Who  bids — the  whole  must  go  together ; 
For  fireworks  and  illuminations, 
And  various  other  '  demonstrations,' 
This  kind  of  goods  is  just  the  thing; 
Who  bids  ! — they'll  go  for  what  they'll  bring.1 

A  host  of  fiends  approached  the  spot, 
Each  eager  to  secure  the  lot : 
Sly  crafty  Fraud,  mean  Breach-of-trust, 
Intemperance,  Murder,  Theft,  and  Lust, 
And  every  imp  of  Heaven  accurs'd. 
Such  rapid  bids  from  crime  and  vice,       ff 
Secured  the  goods  a  heavy  price ; 
And  ere  the  buyers  left  the  spot, 
Thy  all  agreed  to  share  the  lot. 

The  crowd  increased ;  the  sage,  perplext. 
Put  up  a  lot  of  week-days  next ; 
Industry  bid,  but  Speculation 
Out-bid  him  without  hesitation, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  230 

Until  they  run  the  lot  so  high, 
That  all  the  rest  refused  to  buy ; 
The  auctioneer  to  dwell  was  loth, 
So  knocked  the  package  down  to  both. 

The  Sundays  only  now  remained, 
For  which  fair  bids  were  soon  obtained ; 
Pleasure  and  Indolence  expected 
To  have  the  pleasant  ones  selected 
For  them  alone,  to  take  the  best, 
And  leave  Religion  all  the  rest. 
But  TIME  to  this  would  not  agree, 
So  knocked  them  down  to  Piety ; 
Exclaiming,  "  Going! — going  ! — gone! ! !" 
The  clock  struck  twelve! — 'twas  New-year's  morn! 
Aroused  by  poor  grimalkin's  scream, 
I  woke,  and  found  'twas  all  a dream. 

But,  Harriet,  should  my  dream  prove  true, 
And  TIME  have  sold  such  goods  to  you, 
May  every  bale,  and  lot,  and  piece, 
Your  capital  of  bliss  increase, 
While  you  deposit  the  avails 
In  Heaven,  a  bank  that  never  fails. 
And  when  the  great  account,  at  last, 
Is  posted,  and  correctly  cast, 
The  balance-sheet  will  clearly  prove, 
That  you've  eternal/wrafe  above. 
Till  then,  may  pleasure  crown  you  here, 
For  many  a  JVcto  and  Happy  Year. 


240  POEMS. 

REJECTED    ADDRESS. 

Intended  for  the  opening  of  the  New-  York  Theatre. 

When  simple  nature  first  devised  the  plan, 
And  gave  the  chart  of  life  to  erring  man, 
With  tearful  eye,  dejected  Pity  traced 
His  cheerless  path  across  the  sterile  waste, 
Nor  found,  amid  the  wilderness  of  woes 
A  single  spot  for  shelter  or  repose. 
There  roved  the  form  and  image  of  her  God, 
Wild  as  the  dreary  trackless  realms  he  trod ; 
Savage  and  rude,  uncultured,  unrefined, 
By  turns  the  prey  and  butcher  of  his  kind. 
She  saw,  and  sighed,  in  agony  of  soul, 
And  prayed  that  Mercy  would  revise  the  ecroll. 

With  magic  pencil,  dipt  in  hues  of  light, 
ART  touched  the  map,  and  all  the  scene  was  bright  \ 
A  thousand  islets,  crown'd  with  sylvan  bowers, 
The  freshest  verdure,  and  the  sweetest  flowers, 
With  gushing  fountains,  pure  meandering  rills, 
Delightful  valleys,  and  majestic  hills, 
Refresh'd  with  dews — by  fragrant  zephyrs  fann'd, 
Seem'd  scatter'd  o'er  that  shoreless  sea  of  sand  ; 
The  goddess  saw — dismiss'd  her  false  alarms, 
And  own'd  that  life  was  not  without  its  charms. 

Among  those  charms,  designed  by  polish'd  art 
To  warm  the  fancy,  and  improve  the  heart, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  241 

The  Drama  opes  its  bright  enchanting  scenes, 
Its  object  use— amusement  but  the  means  ; 
For  though  the  muse  resort  to  fiction's  aid, 
Fiction  is  here  but  truth  in  masquerade ; 
And  thousands,  who  her  grave  entreaties  shun, 
Are,  by  her  borrowed  smiles,  allured  and  won. 

She  shows  what  ills  beset  our  devious  way, 
When  reason  yields  to  passion's  lawless  sway, 
And  what  inspiring  hopes  his  steps  attend, 
Who  clings  to  Virtue  as  his  guide  and  friend ; 
What  glory  crowns  the  hero  and  the  sage, 
Whose  present  labours  bless  a  future  age  ; 
And  what  celestial  ecstacies  reward 
Each  act  that  conscience,  truth,  and  He-av'n  applaud. 
Where'er  is  felt  the  drama's  genial  sway, 
The  mists  of  vice  and  ignorance  melt  away, 
Refinement  follows,  and  her  empire  grows 
Till  moral  deserts  blossom  like  the  rose. 

Thus  has  her  power  this  growing  city  blest, 
The  pride,  the  boast,  the  mistress  of  the  west; 
Where  genius,  science,  arts,  and  taste  abound, 
And  every  sweet  embellishment  is  found  ; 
And  where  the  drama  sees  her  cause  extend, 
Till  virtue  hails  her  as  her  warmest  friend ; 
While  bigot  Prejudice,  with  scowl  austere, 
Views  her  new  temple  proudly  towering  here ; 
A  fane,  which  we  to-night,  with  rituals  due, 

Would  consecrate  to  genius  and  to  you. 
21 


242  POEMS. 

Accept  the  offering—let  this  splendid  pile, 
Illumed  by  beauty's  soul-inspiring  smile, 
Become  the  school  of  morals,  wit,  and  taste, 
By  art  embellished,  and  by  fashion  graced ; 
'Tis  done,  if  you  but  deign  to  aid  the  cause, 
Success  is  certain,  blest  with  your  applause. 


REASON    AND    PASSION. 

An    extract  from  Beasts  at  Law. 

The  human  mind's  a  tilting  field, 
Where  two  strong  active  spirits  wield 
The  missive  dart  or  pointed  lance, 
And  parry,  thrust,  repeat,  advance, 
Or  close,  in  obstinate  affray, 
Till  one  or  t'other  gains  the  day. 
But  still  the  fight  is  not  decided, 
Their  powers  and  rights  are  so  divided, 
The  desperate  war  is  still  renew'd, 
For  neither  can  be  quite  subdued ; 
But  each  is,  in  his  turn,  the  master, 
Like  Pollux  and  his  brother  Castor, 
These  spirits  (as  we  might  suppose, 
They  being  such  eternal  foes) 
Are  as  unlike  in  form  and  feature, 
As  much  opposed  in  looks  and  nature, 
And  as  dissimilar  in  all, 
As  men  and  angels  since  the  fall. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  243 

When  charity  expands  the  breast, 
The  first  of  virtues  and  the  best ; 
When  LOVE  within  the  soul  arises, 
Which  all  the  law  of  GOD  comprises  ; 
In  short,  when  we're  inclined  to  good, 
And  have  some  selfish  wish  subdued  ; 
We  may  be  sure  the  fiend  has  reel'd, 
And  that  the  angel  holds  the  field. 
But  when  we  yield  to  passion's  sway, 
And  hate  or  envy's  rule  obey ; 
It  will  as  certainly  be  found, 
The  angel  welters  on  the  ground ; 
That  we  have  turn'd  the  fate  of  war, 
And  placed  Apollyon  on  the  car. 
For  though  we  fight  on  neither  side, 
'Tis  ours  the  victory  to  guide, 
And  by  a  vote  we  turn  the  scale, 
For  Vice  and  Virtue  to  prevail. 
Too  indolent,  unless  befriended, 
To  keep  our  heavy  arm  extended, 
In  careless  ease  we  let  it  drop, 
And  Virtue  falls  with  Vice  atop. 
In  such  a  case,  'tis  my  opinion, 
Rather  than  Vice  should  hold  dominion, 
We'd  best  confess  our  arm  is  weak, 
And  succour  of  Religion  seek  ; 
There  we  can  find  a  potent  charm, 
Sufficient  to  support  an  arm 
Of  nature's  smallest,  weakest  son, 
Although  that  arm  should  weigh  a  ton. 


244  POEMS. 

But  stay,  I'll  demonstrate  my  meaning : 
When  Victory  once  by  turns  was  leaning 
To  different  sides  of  hostile  foes, 
Now  aiding  these,  now  helping  those  ; 
Doubtful  which  way  to  turn  the  scale, 
That  this  or  that  should  most  prevail ; 
The  leader  of  the  chosen  band, 
In  Israel's  favour  raised  his  hand, 
And  quick  as  thought  their  foes  retreat, 
Nor  dared  the  tide  of  fate  to  meet ; 
His  hand  withdrawn,  the  vanquish'd  turn, 
And  with  rekindled  ardor  burn, 
While  Israel's  ranks  confused  and  broke, 
By  thousands  fell  beneath  the  stroke. 
In  this  dilemma,  undismay'd, 
He  calls  for  holy  Aaron's  aid  ; 
(A  beauteous  figure  of  that  power, 
Who  still  supports  us  every  hour ;) 
The  wearied  arm  the  Priest  sustain'd, 
And  Israel  soon  the  field  regain'd, 
On  their  pursuers  turned  the  flood, 
And  dyed  the  plain  with  heathen  blood  ; 
Thus  gain'd  the  day  and  battle  too, 
And  pay'd  their  vows  where  justly  due. 


That  minstrel  wakes  the  song  in  vain, 
Who  weaves  no  moral  with  his  strain ; 
And  he  who  flatters  vice  for  pelf, 
Deserves  its  penalty  himself. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  245 

VALE    COLLEGE. 

Extract  from  a  Poem  entitled  New-Haven. 

Access  is  mine,  the  willing  gates  unfold, 

And  Yale's  assembled  sons  mine  eyes  behold ; 

Our  future  statesmen,  patriots,  bards,  divines, 

For  whom  bright  Fame  the  fadeless  laurel  twines, 

Are  here  convened,  and  in  each  youthful  face 

Their  rising  greatness  fancy  fain  would  trace. 

Say,  are  not  here  some  souls  that  restless  bum, 

On  life's  great  stage  to  take  an  active  turn ; 

To  rise,  the  awful  pillars  of  the  state, 

And  rival  ancient  Tully  in  debate  ? 

Some  who  possess  a  portion  of  that  flame 

That  gain'd  our  Washington  immortal  fame  ? 

Others,  whose  philanthropic  bosoms  glow 

To  act  like  Franklin  in  relieving  wo  ? 

Whose  philosophic  souls  his  fame  inspires 

To  wield  the  thunder  and  direct  its  fires  ; 

To  soar,  on  Fancy's  wing,  through  trackless  space, 

View  countless  orbs  and  all  their  movements  trace, 

Govern'd  by  order  and  unchanging  laws, 

And  in  effects  behold  the  eternal  cause  ? 

Some  glowing  with  a  Homer's  living  fire, 

Design'd  to  "  wake  to  ecstacy  the  lyre," 

To  bid  Columbia's  future  fame  arise, 

And  rear  Parnassus  under  western  skies  ; 

Here  fix  the  temple  of  the  tuneful  throng, 

And  rival  Albion's  boasted  sons  of  song  ? 


246  POEMS. 

Or  are  not  here  some  destined  yet  to  shine, 
With  cloudless  lustre,  in  the  desk  divine  ; 
To  wake  the  soul,  and  guide  its  feeble  view 
To  Him  who  made,  and  can  its  form  renew  ; 
Recal  the  wandering  wretch,  his  course  restrain, 
And  gently  lead  him  to  the  fold  again ; 
Arouse  the  careless,  and  support  the  weak, 
And  gospel  truths  with  voice  unfaltering  speak  ? 

************ 
Hail !  sons  of  Genius !  youthful  sages,  hail ! 
The  glory,  pride,  support,  and  boast  of  Yale  ; 
Your  country's  ornaments  aspire  to  prove, 
And  grace  the  spheres  in  which  you're  call'd  to  move ; 
So  shall  your  Alma  Mater  rise  in  fame, 
And  deathless  honours  decorate  her  name. 
And  here  the  muse  bewails  her  hapless  bard, 
Whose  cruel  fate  such  golden  prospects  marr'd, 
For  Hope  once  whisper'd  to  his  ardent  breast, 
"  Thy  dearest,  fondest  wish  shall  be  possess'd" — 
Unfolded  to  his  view  the  classic  page, 
And  all  its  treasures  promised  ripening  age  ; 
Show'd  Learning's  flowery  path  which  led  to  Fame, 
Whose  distant  temple  glittered  with  his  name. 
Illusive  all!— the  phantom  all  believe, 
Though  still  we  know  her  promises  deceive ; 
Chill  penury  convinced  the  wretch  too  late, 
Her  words  were  false,  and  his  a  hapless  fate. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  247 

AN  ADDRESS, 

Intended  to  have  been  spoken  at  the  Park  Theatre, 

for  the  Benefit  of  the  Widow  and  Orphans  of 

HOPKINS  ROBERTSON. 

Patrons  of  worth — whose  presence  oft  has  graced 
The  mental  banquet  here  prepared  for  taste ; 
But  whose  compassion  led  you  here  to-night, 
To  make  affliction's  burthen  sit  more  light — 
Deign  to  accept — 'tis  virtue's  sweetest  food, 
The  widow's  thanks — the  orphan's  gratitude. 

No  visage,  wet  with  artificial  tears, 
No  bosom,  shook  with  counterfeited  fears — 
No  feign'd  affliction — no  fictitious  grief, 
Now  claim,  from  sympathizing  hearts,  relief. 
The  tears,  now  shed,  from  real  fountains  spring, — 
The  purest  tribute  gratitude  can  bring ; 
The  sighs  now  breathed,  to  Mercy's  footstool  bear, 
For  you — and  you — the  widow's  grateful  prayer, 
The  sweetest  incense  that  to  heaven  ascends, 
To  call  down  blessings  on  the  orphan's  friends, 
And  the  reward  is  yours — for  sure,  to-night, 
The  happiest  dreams  will  on  your  slumbers  light : 
Fancy  will  paint  a  family  of  grief 
Receiving,  from  your  generous  hands,  relief; 
And  smiles  shall  greet  you,  from  the  humid  eye 
Which  your  benevolence  alone  could  dry. 


248  POEMS. 

But  yet — so  well  I  know  each  generous  heart, — 
You  think  this  but  a  debt,  discharged  in  part— 
A  payment,  to  the  offspring  and  the  wife 
Of  one  who  served  you  faithfully  thro'  life  ; 
Whose  talents,  labours,  time — were  all  combined 
To  please  the  fancy  and  improve  the  mind. 

Whether  as  monarch  of  these  mimic  realms, 
Or  peasant,  'mid  our  canvas  oaks  and  elms, — 
The  hoary  veteran,  or  the  beardless  lad— 
The  lover  happy — or,  the  tyrant  mad ! — 
In  every  character — or  gay  or  grave — 
You  can  attest  the  pleasure  that  he  gave. 
On  life's  great  stage,  he  also  play'd  his  part, 
Cheered  by  the  plaudits  of  an  honest  heart ; 
As  husband,  father,  friend — his  business  ran — 
The  citizen— the  patriot— the  man ! 
In  all,  he  acted  well— yet,  'tis  confess'd, 
One  scene  eclipsed  in  splendour  all  the  rest : 
When  hapless  Richmond,  on  one  funeral  pyre, 
Saw  beauty,  talents,  worth,  and  wealth,  expire — • 
When  death  abrupt  on  pleasure's  precincts  broke, 
And  held  his  carnival  'mid  flames  and  smoke ; 
When  shrieks  of  madness  and  despair,  combined 
To  freeze  the  blood,  and  agonize  the  mind — 
He  stood  undaunted,  'mid  the  unequal  strife, 
Encountering  death,  to  save  another's  life ! 
Tho'  blazing  ruin  revels  o'er  his  head, 
Pouring  a  tempest  on  the  quick  and  dead — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  249 

Tho*  thousand  forked  tongues  of  flame  demand 
Their  rescued  victims  from  his  daring  hand — 
He  still  remains,  the  dreadful  scene  to  brave, 
Till  hope  expires,  and  fate  forbids  to  save ! 
This  to  his  fame  the  brightest  ray  has  given, 
And  called  down  blessings  from  approving  heaven. 

But  ah  !  the  worth  which  you  have  all  admired, 
With  humbler  virtues — tenderer,  more  retired — 
Could  not  avail  from  early  death  to  save 
Him  who  had  rescued  other's  from  the  grave. 
His  part  is  o'ec — the  manly  form,  which  trod 
These  boards  so  oil,  now  sleeps  beneath  the  sod  ; 
But  the  immortal  mind,  which  never  dies, 
To  scenes  more  bright  and  permanent  must  rise  5 
There  enter  on  eternity's  vast  stage, 
And  act  an  angel's  part,  an  endless  age. 

Your  generous  bounty  cannot  reach  him  there— 
But  ah !  he's  left  dear  pledges  to  your  care, 
Whose  fate  may  e'en  affect  his  bliss  in  heaven, 
As  your  protection  is  withheld  or  given. 
O  then  continue — as  you  do  to-night, 
"  To  make  affliction's  burthen  sit  more  light;" 
Protect  the  hapless  orphan — shield  the  form 
Of  widowed  love,  from  misery's  "  pitiless  storm ;" 
So  will  you  hear  angelic  lips  applaud, 
And  find  the  act  itself  a  rich  reward  ! 


250  POEMS. 


EPILOGUE, 

To   the  Native  Drama  of  "  Narrah.  Mattah" 

tfpoken  by  Mrs.  Sharpe,  in  the  character 

of  Narrah  Mattah. 

The  curtain's  down — and  while  they're  all  behind 
Doffing  their  pilgrim  dresses — I've  a  mind 
At  the  gay  modern  world  to  have  one  peep, 
And  just  say  "  how  d'ye  do  ?"  before  I  sleep. 
(Looks  round  the  boxes.) 

But  how  is  this  ? — am  I  to  understand 
That  these  are  the  descendants  of  that  band 
Of  pious  plain-clad  pilgrims,  who  came  o'er 
To  seek  for  freedom  on  this  western  shore  ? 
Why — where's  the  plain  mob  cap  ?  the  russet  gown  7 
The  puritanic  coat  ?  the  close-cropt  crown  ? 
Where's  all  that  neat  simplicity  of  dress 
Which  marked  the  puritans  ?    Egad !  I  guess 
I  wan't  alone — more  of  them  must  have  wed 
With  native  chiefs,  and  mingled  white  and  red ; 
Else  why  this  taste  for  feathers,  beads,  and  shells, 
In  their  descendants  ?    Why  do  modern  belles 
Paint  their  sweet  faces,  and  from  either  ear 
Suspend  those  sparkling  trinkets  ?    And  then  here, 
(touching  her  own  arm.) 


MISCELLANEOUS.  251 

So  modestly  to  bury  half  their  charms, 

In  those  huge  silken  bags  that  hide  their  arms . 

0  there's  red  blood  in  some  of  your  blue  veins, 
And  so  there  is  in  yours,  ye  dapper  swains, 
Or  what's  the  meaning  of  those  dandy  chains 
Extending  from  your  bosoms  to  your  pockets  ? 

1  wonder  if  you  modern  beaux  wear  lockets  ! 

Nay,  hope  not  to  escape  me — you  will  fail,  (laughing  / 
These  treacherous  square-toes,  I  shall  know  your  trail. 

(Looks  at  the  second  tier.) 
I  see  you  there,  but  I  won't  tell  your  name, 
He  with  the  whiskers — yes — that's  he — the  same ; 
A  mighty  chief  of  some  great  tribe,  no  doubt, 
You  need  not  tell  me — I  shall  make  it  out : 
Yes,  yes — I  see — it  plainly  now  appears, 
Those  artificial  whiskers  hide  long  ears ! 

But  he  with  that  blue  blanket  on  one  shoulder, 
And  feathered  lip,  must  be  a  chief  still  bolder ; 
Perhaps  a  sachem,  sagamore,  or  scribe, 
O,  I  perceive,  he's  of  the  cockney  tribe. 

(Looks  at  the  third  tier.) 

But  what  is  that  thing  ? — yonder — up  above  1 
He  with  the  eye-glass  ?   There !  he's  dropt  his  glove  \ 
What  tribe  claims  him — or  it — that  taper  shape  ? 
I've  strong  suspicions  it  must  be  the  ape ! 


252  POEMS. 

You  needn't  smile,  here,  in  the  pit,  below, 
For  I've  a  word  with  you  before  I  go. 
Yes,  do  smile  !    In  mercy  don't  look  grave, 
For  'tis  your  tribe  must  either  damn  or  save 
The  little  bantling  just  gone  off  the  stage. 
Forget  its  faults,  but  not  its  tender  age. 
What  if  it  be  a  little  rude  and  wild, 
Remember  that  a  parent  loves  his  child : 
And  I'll  be  sworn  he's  somewhere  here  to-night, 
With  feelings  none  can  know  but  they  who  write. 
So  be  good-natured,  now,  ye  critic  tribe  j 
Nay,  do  not  frown — can  I  not  name  some  bribe? 
Yes,  here  it  goes — don't  let  the  new  play  fall, 
And  Narrah  Mattah  vows  to  kiss  you  all. 

[Great  applause. 

'Tis  safe ! — 'tis  safe ! — your  generous  hands  decide  it 
There — take  a  kiss  among  you,  and  divide  it, 
[Kisses  her  Tiand,  and  exit. 


EPITAPH, 

On  a  charming  and  much  lamented  Female, 

This  humble  stone  is  meant  to  show 
That  Anna's  vesture  lies  below  ; 
But  she  who  wore  it — she  we  love, 
IB  in  her  bridal  dress  above. 


TffiTE 


MISCELLANEOUS.  253 

THE   ORFHAXT   MAID. 

Mr — Bonnie  Doon. 

How  hard  the  maiden  orphan's  fate, 

Whose  early  joys  and  hopes  are  fled, 
Who  vainly  asks  the  rich  and  great 

For  leave  to  earn  her  daily  bread  ! 
Exposed  to  frowns,  rebukes,  and  sneers, 

In  humble  menial  garb  arrayed, 
While  heartless  fools  deride  her  tears, 

And  spurn  the  hapless  orphan  maid. 

There  was  a  time alas  !  'tis  fled — 

When  fortune,  friends,  and  kindred  smiled, 
When  sunny  rays  of  joy  were  shed 

Around  the  gay  and  happy  child  ; 
When,  shielded  by  parental  care, 

No  pang  of  sorrow  dared  invade, 
Save  when  she  saw  the  meek  despair 

Of  some  poor  hapless  orphan  maid. 

But  ah  !  her  parents  died,  and  left 

Their  darling  unprotected  child, 
Of  fortune,  friends,  and  joy  bereft, 

And  then  the  maiden  never  smiled. 
She  only  asked  to  toil  for  bread, 

She  sought  no  unrequited  aid — 
But  asked  in  vain ! — till  hope  was  fled, 

And  death  relieved  the  orphan  maid ! 


22 


254  POEMS. 

EPILOGUE, 

TO   COX'S   MUCH-ADMIRED    OPERA    OF   "  ROKEBY." 
SPOKEN    BY   BARNES,   PLACIDE,    AND   HILSON. 

Enter  Barnes,  in  character  of  a.  Physician. 


Barnes.  0,  spare  your  hands — 'tis  useless,  all  this  blarney , 
The  play  can't  live,  without  a  word  from  Barney : 
Tis  like  a  patient— quacks  to  death  may  steam  him, 
And  he  is  damned,  if  science  don't  redeem  him, 
Grappling  with  fate,  'tis  I  alone  can  part  'em — 
Barney  will  save  the  piece,  secundem  artem. 

Go  on — that's  right — your  smiles  are  what  I'm  after — 
The  best  prescription  is  a  roar  of  laughter ; 
One  hearty  lau«h,  no  matter  how  excited, 
May  save  a  life  when  every  hope  is  blighted. 

'Tis  true,  Placide  has  got  an  epilogue, 
But  'taint  the  thing— it  don't  "  go  the  whole  hog ;" 
So,  while  he's  back  there,  spelling  out  each  line, 
I'll  give  you  an  extrumpery  of  mine  ; 
Original  throughout — no  one  has  read  it — 
So,  if  you  have  a  tear,  prepare  to  shed  it. 

"  A  certain  fair  one — once,  in  days  of  yore — 
Caught  a  bad  quinsy,  and  her  throat  was  sore ; 
She  could  not  speak,  nor  swallow,  chew,  nor  sup, 
She  scarcely  breathed — the  doctors  gave  her  up ! 
Her  weeping  friends,  in  silence,  breathed  their  sighs, 
And  stood  prepared  to  close  her  fading  eyes ! 
'Twas  at  this  awful  crisis,  rnid  the  gloom, 
Her  favourite  monkey  stole  into  the  room  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  »55 

With  doctor's  formal  air  approach'd  the  bed, 
Seized  hold  her  wrist,  then  gravely  shook  his  head ! 
The  droll  manoeuvre  call'd  a  smile  from  death, 
And  one  convulsive  laugh  restored  her  breath  ; 
Broke  her  disorder,  let  the  fair  escape, 
Who  owed  her  cure  alone  to  Dr.  Ape." 

D'ye  take? — or  must  I  give  your  wits  a  jog  ? 

Stay — here  comes  Harry,  with  his  epilogue. 

Enter  Placide,  who  comes  forward  and  speaks : 

P.  "  In  ancient  times,  when  plighted  vowa  were  broken" — 

Barnes You're  too  late,  Hal — the  epilogue  is  spoken. 

Placide Spoken  !     By  whom  ? 

Barnes By  me. 

Placide By  you  ! 

Barnes 'Tis  certain. 

Placide... .Why  'taint  a  minute  since  they  dropt  the  curtain, 
And  my  address  a  good  half  hour  employs. 

Barnes I've  done  the  deed — didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 

'If  you  attempt,  you'll  find  yourself  mistaken  ; 
I  made  them  laugh — that  saved  the  author's  bacon. 

Placide*.,.*And  who  bade  you  display  your  monkey  capers  ? 
The  sun  requires  no  aid  from  farthing  tapers — 
1  saved  the  piece,  sir. 

Barnes ..You  ! 

Placide My  humble  talents 

Secured  the  thing's  success,  and  turn'd  the  balance; 
Or,  as  Prince  Rupert  says — "alone  I  did  it .'"' 
Jt's  true,  I  pledge  my  honour ! 

Enter  HUson,  speaking: 

ttilson ..Heaven  forbid  it ! 

To  put  so  mere  a  trifle  "  up  the  spout ! " 

Placide.— Hilson,  be  quiet !  I  know  what  I'm  about. 


256  POEMS. 

HUson — That  tone,  my  boy,  smacks  sharply  of  the  acid. 

Barnes. — Placide  by  name,  but  not  exactly  placid. 
You're  somewhat  wroth. 

Placide I  am— and  shall  be  wrother — 

I'll  speak  my  speech ! 

HUson. Not  if  you  love  the  author. 

Since  I  have  saved  his  opera,  'twere  wrong 
To  jeopardize  it  with  a  speech  so  long. 

Placide You  saved  the  opera ! 

Barnes You  saved  it ! 

Both You ! 

Httgon Yes,  I  myself  alone — you  know  it's  true ; 

I  hit  it  on  the  head — and,  lest  it  fail, 
Here's  a  short  epilogue,  to  clinch  the  nail : 

Addressing  the  Audience. 

"  When  erst  the  muses,  on  Parnassus'  top. 
In  mazy  dances———" 

Barnes Prithee,  Tommy,  stop; 

Throw  poetry  and  physic  to  the  dogs, 

Nor  bore  our  friends,  here,  with  dull  epilogues. 

HUson Agreed,  old  Barney ! — and,  to  end  disputes, 

The  readiest  way  to  harmonize  our  flutes 

Is  to  admit — so  be  it  understood, 

To  please  our  friends  we've  all  done  what  we  could. 

If  we  have  failed 

Placide Why,  then 

Barnes What  then,  Placide? 

Placide They'll  take  a  good  intention  for  the  deed. 

HUson I'll  answer  for't— I  know  these  gen'rous  folks, 

They're  always  laughing  at  us,  or  our  jokes. 
But  what  of  our  young  author  ? — Jests  nor  wit 
Won't  add  a  penny  to  his  benefit. 

Placide His  benefit  is  safe. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  357 

Barnei , ...What  then  of  Rokeby? 

HUsoti Should  that  be  damn'd  it  would  a  serious  joke  be. 

But  see! — there's  mercy  in  each  judge's  eye — 
The  bard's  acquitted! — Rokeby  shall  not  die! 

Placide Egad !  their  plaudits  make  old  Drury  shake ! 

Httson It's  just  the  thing! 

Barnes I  say — "  there's  no  mistake  ."' 


EPISTLE, 

ADDRESSED   TO    MY    FRIEND    G.  P.   MORRIS,    ESQ. 

The  muse  and  myself,  the  other  day, 

Held  a  short  colloquy  together  ; 

For  she  sometimes  calls,  when  she  comes  that  way, 
Though  scarcely  a  moment  she  deigns  to  stay, 
And  seldom  has  any  thing  to  say, 
Save,  "  how  d'ye  do  —  what  news  to-day  ! 

'Tis  really  charming  weather  ^' 

She  found  rne  alone,  in  my  elbow  chair  — 

One  arm  has  long  been  broken  — 
In  the  attic,  George  —  you  well  know  where, 
For  once,  last  summer,  I  saw  you  there, 
When  you  kindly  offered  to  pay  my  fair, 
If  I'd  brush  my  coat,  and  with  you  repair- 
To  breathe  a  mouthful  of  country  air, 

On  the  heights  of  green  Hoboken. 


As  I  said  before,  her  ladyship  came, 

En  disJiabille,    as  usual, 
In  costume  resembling  the  slipshod 
22* 


258  POEMS. 

Whose  Black-book  sketches  arc  known  to  fame 
Her  robe  was  blue,  and  her  hose  the  same, 
Her  sandals  unlaced,  and  her  gait  was  lame, 
As  she  entered  the  room,  and  pronounced  my  name 
In  a  manner  and  tone  fiducial. 

"  Good  day  t'ye,  Reuben— don't  ask  me  to  stay, 

For  I  must  hasten  home  to  my  toilet ; 
As  I  go  out  with  NORNA  a-shopping  to-day, 
And  HINDA  goes  with  us — besides,  I  must  pay 
A  visit  to  THIRZA — it's  all  in  our  way, 
And  then  to  IANTHE  I've  something  to  say ; 
Besides,  I  must  call  upon  WETMORE  and  FAT, 
And  then  there  would  be  the  Old  Nick  to  pay, 
If  I  didn't  look  in  upon  MORRIS  too — eigh ! 
But  now,  while  I  think  of  it — Reuben,  do  say, 
Who  is  that  comical  C**  ? — I  will  lay 
He  is  building  a  fame  that  will  never  decav ; 
And  so  is  my  favourite  PROTEUS — nay, 
No  jealousy,  Reuben,  but  win  your  own  bay, 

And  never  let  envy  soil  it. 

"  Hush !  don't  interrupt  me — there's  tender  ESTKLLE, 

EVERARD,  LARA,  and  ALPHA,  and  INMAN, 
ISIDORA,  or  HARRIET — with  sweet  ISABELLE, 
And  hundreds  of  others,  are  like  to  excel, 
If  they  treat  me  politely, — But,  Reuben,  do  tell, 
If  I  don't  appear  charming  in  this  dishabille  ? 
"  Say,  why  the  deuce  do  you  grin,  man  ?" 

««  You  look,"  I  replied,  "  both  ugly  and  old, 

In  these  rascally  dishabille  dresses  ; 
Why,  when  you  are  visiting  others,  I'm  told, 
The  finest  light  gossamer  vestures  infold 


MISCELLANEOUS.  259 

A 

That  form  and  those  limbs  of  such  exquisite  mould, 
With  sandals  that  sparkle  with  spangles  and  gold, 
While  a  chaplet  of  roses  and  diamonds  untold, 
Confine  those  wandering  tresses. 

"  When  others  petition,  you  make  reply, 

In  numbers  of  sweetest  measure, 
But  to  me  you  prate,  like  a  chattering  pie, 
Of  shopping,  and  visits,  and  a  few  small  fry 
Of  Mirror  contributors— while  here,  poor  I 

In  silence  must  wait  your  leisure ! 

"  Why  not  on  me  such  favours  bestow 

As  your  other  votaries  win  ? 
Why  prattle  tome  on  subjects  so  low, 
In  a  tuneless,  senseless  din  ?" 

"  Why  then  you  must  know," 

She  said  with  a  smile, 
"  That,  when  here  below, 

I  adapt  my  style 
To  the  company  I  am  in. 

"  But,  jesting  apart,  what  is  it  you  claim  ? 

I'll  grant  you  the  boon,  I  swear  it : 
That  is,  if  I'm  able — come,  give  it  a  name." 
"Then  fire  me,  at  once,"  I  replied,  "  with  the  flame 
That  animates  HALLCCK,  and  lights  him  to  fame ; 
To  alike ,dazzling  summit  direct  my  aim, 
Procure  for  my  numbers  an  equal  acclaim ; 
Secure  me  a  chaplet  as  bright — not  the  same, 

And  teach  me  as  humbly  to  wear  it." 

She  smiling  replied,  while  her  head  she  shook, 
"  In  vain  should  I  bid  you  take  it ; 


260  POEMS. 

For  Apollo,  when  late,  with  a  shepherd's  crook, 
He  toy'd  with  a  maid,  by  a  gurgling  brook, 
Hadjconcealed  his  lyre  in  a  private  nook, 
Which  HALLECK  observed,  and  slyly  took, 
And  none  but  HALLECK  can  wake  it." 


THE 

n  Occasional  Address,  spoken  by  Mrs.  Duff,  at  the  Bowery 
Theatre — Firemen1  s  Benefit,  January  24,  1827. 

Hoarse  wintry  blasts  a  solemn  requiem  sung 

To  the  departed  day — upon  whose  bier 
The  velvet  pall  of  midnight  had  been  flung, 

And  nature  mourn'd  through  one  wide  hemisphere. 
Silence  and  darkness  held  their  cheerless  sway, 
•    Save  in  the  haunts  of  riotous  excess ; 
And  half  the  world  in  dreamy  slumbers  lay, 

Lost  in  the  maze  of  sweet  forgetfulness. 

When  lo  !  upon  the  startled  ear 
There  broke  a  sound,  so  dread  and  drear, 
As,  like  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder, 
Burst  the  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 
And  filled  a  thousand  throbbing  hearts  with  fear. 
Hark !  the  faithful  watchman's  cry 
Speaks  a  conflagration  nigh ! 
See !  yon  glow  upon  the  sky 

Confirms  the  fearful  tale ! 
The  deep-mouth'd  bells,  with  rapid  tone, 
Combine  to  make  the  tidings  known  ; 
Affrighted  silence  now  has  flown, 
And  sounds  of  terror  freight  the  chilly  gale  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  261 

At  the  first  note  of  this  discordant  din, 

The  gallant  FIREMAN  from  his  slumber  starts, 
Reckless  of  toil  or  danger,  if  he  win 
The  tributary  meed  of  grateful  hearts. 
From  pavement  rough,  or  frozen  ground, 
His  engine's  rattling  wheels  resound, 

And  soon,  before  his  eyes, 
The  lurid  flames,  with  horrid  glare, 

Mingled  with  murky  vapour,  rise 
In  wreathy  folds,  upon  the  air, 
And  veil  the  frowning  skies '. 

Sudden,  a  shriek  assails  his  heart ! 

A"  female  shriek !  so  piercing  wild 
As  makes  his  very  life-blood  start — 

"  My  child !— Almighty  God !— My  child  » •* 

He  hears — and  'gainst  the  tottering  wall 

The  ponderous  ladder  rears, 
While  blazing  fragments  round  him  fall, 

And  crackling  sounds  assail  his  ears ! 
His  sinewy  arm,  with  one  rude  crash,      <' ,"  o 
Hurls  to  the  earth  the  opposing  sash, 

And,  heedless  of  the  startling  din, 
Tho'  smoky  volumes  round  him  roll, 
The  mother's  shriek  has  pierced  his  soul ! 

See! — See ! — He  plunges  in  ! 

The  admiring  crowd,  with  hopes  and  fears, 

In  breathless  expectation  stand ! 
When  lo !  the  daring  youth  appears, 
Hailed  by  a  burst  of  warm,  extatic  cheers, 

Bearing  the  child,  triumphant,  in  his  hand ! 


262  POEMS. 

TO  CAFT.  J.  B.  AIID  LADY, 

ON  THE  DEATH  OP  THEIR  THIRD  AND  LAST  REMAINING  CHILD. 

"  Insatiate  archer  !  could  not  one  suffice  ! 

Thy  shaft  flew  THRICE,  and  thrice  my  peace  was  slain ."' 

YOUNG. 

Weep  on,  bereaved  ones— there's  no  sin  in  tears, 
When  nature's  tenderest  ties  by  death  are  broken, 

For  HE  who  pities  while  he  chastens,  hears 
The  sigh  of  sorrow,  as  submission's  token  ; 

And  HE  remembers,  too,  when  Lazarus  slept, 

His  own  divine  compassion — "Jesus  wept!" 

Weep  on — but  mourn  not  with  a  hopeless  sorrow, 
Raise  your  moist  eyes  to  scenes  beyond  the  grave, 

And  own  that  HE,  from  whom  each  bliss  we  borrow, 
Takes  back  in  mercy,  what  his  mercy  gave : 

He  takes  them  home— 'tis  love's,  not  fate's,  decree, 

That  where  our  treasures  are,  our  hearts  may  be. 

Weep  on,  bereaved  ones— 'twas  for  this  your  God 
Severed  the  ties  that  kept  your  hearts  below  j 

Thwart  not  his  purpose,  but  revere  the  rod, 
And  meekly  kiss  the  hand  that  gave  the  blow  : 

The  keenest  pangs  are  all  in  mercy  given — 

Humility 's  the  only  path  to  heaven. 

Weep  on — but  waste  not  one  delicious  tear 
On  the  cold  sui  face  of  their  earthy  bed  ; 

Your  babes  are  risen — nought  but  dust  is  here, 
Why  seek  the  living,  then,  among  the  dead? 

Their  souls  have  risen,  from  the  mouldering  tomb, 

To  scenes  of  bliss,  where  joys  eternal  bloom. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  263 

Weep  on — but,  like  a  sunbeam  in  a  shower, 
Let  this  bright  truth — a  ray  of  light  from  heaven, 

Shine  through  the  gloom  of  sorrow's  darkest  hour, 
The  smile  of  peace — the  hope  of  sins  forgiven : 

The  sweet  assurance,  that  the  ties  of  love, 

Can  ne'er  be  severed  in  the  realms  above. 


TO  MARY  ANN. 

Dear  Mary  Ann,  the  sparkling  gems, 

Which  deck  the  brow  of  even, 
Are  rayless,  to  the  diadems 
And  jewels  on  the  garment  hems 
Of  sainted  maids  in  heaven. 

The  fleecy  snow,  so  pure  and  white, 

By  winds  of  winter  driven, 
Is  darker  than  the  shades  of  night, 
To  those  celestial  robes  of  light 

Which  clothe  the  nymphs  of  heaven. 

No  banquet  e'er  by  mortal  spread, 

No  feast  by  monarch  given, 
Can  match  the  living  wine  and  bread, 
With  which  the  virgin  train  are  fed, 

Who  crowd  the  courts  of  heaven. 

The  crown,  the  robe,  the  feast  be  thine ; 

To  all  who  ask,  they're  given ; 
The  jewels,  gems,  the  bread  and  wine, 
Will  fill  thee  with  that  flame  divine, 

Which  lights  the  maids  of  heaven. 


264  POEMS. 

Thine  be  the  pearl  of  nameless  worth, 

By  Christ  alone  'tis  given — 
And  though  we  never  meet  on  earth, 
If  we  obtain  the  second  birth, 
Thou'lt  kiss  the  bard  in  heaven. 


THE    BOOK    OF    THE    HEART. 

WRITTEN  IN  A  TOUNG  LADY'S  ALBUM. 

Thy  MIND  is  an  ALBUM,  unsullied  and  bright, 
Just  opened — for  angels  and  spirits  to  write 
Each  thought  and  affection,  intent  and  desire, 
That  wisdom  may  sanction — that  love  may  inspire. 

The  book  is  immortal — 0  guard  it  with  care, 
Lest  demons  should  sully  its  pages  so  fair ; 
Repulse  such  intruders,  nor  shrink  from  the  strife, 
And  Jesus  will  smile  on  the  «  Book  of  thy  «/«." 


EPITAPH. 

0  that  the  icy  touch  of  death  should  blight, 
Just  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  a  form  so  bright ; 
When  smiling  hope  illumed  a  cultured  mind, 
Rich  in  endowments  of  the  fairest  kind ! 
By  all  respected,  by  the  good  approved, 
By  kindred  hearts,  how  tenderly  beloved ! 
Yet,  cease  to  mourn — for  virtue  cannot  die — 
The  youth  still  lives  in  realms  beyond  the  §ky. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  265 

APOLOGUE, 

My  little  girl,  the  other  day, 

(Three  years  of  age  a  month  ago,) 
Wounded  her  finger  while  at  play, 

And  saw  the  crimson  fluid  flow. 
With  pleading  optics,  raining  tears, 

She  sought  my  aid,  in  terror  wild ; 
I  smiling  said — "  dismiss  your  fears, 

And  all  shall  soon  be  well,  my  child." 
Her  little  bosom  ceased  to  swell, 

While  she  replied  with  calmer  brow, 
"  I  know  that  you  can  make  it  well, 

"  But  how,  papa?— I  don't  see  how." 

Our  children  oft  instruct  us  thus  ; 

For  succour,  or  for  recompense, 
They  look  with  confidence  to  us, 

As  we  should  look  to  Providence. 
For  each  infantile  doubt  and  fear, 

And  every  little  childish  grief, 
Is  uttered  to  a  parent's  ear, 

With  full  assurance  of  relief. 
A  grateful  sense  of  favours  past, 

Incites  them  to  petition  now, 
With  faith  in  succour  to  the  last, 

Although  they  can't  imagine  how. 

And  shall  I  doubtingly  repine, 
When  clouds  of  dark  affliction  lower  ? 

A  tenderer  Father  still  is  mine, 
Of  greater  mercy,  love,  and  power : 

He  clothes  the  lily,  feeds  the  dove, 
The  meanest  insect  feels  his  care : 
23 


POEMS. 

And  shall  not  man  confess  his  love, 
Man,  his  own  offspring,  and  his  heir? 

Yes,  though  he  slay,  I'll  trust  him  still, 
And  still  with  resignation  how  ; 

He  may  relieve,  he  can,  he  will — 

Although  I  cannot  yet  see  how. 


FOR  VIOLA'S  ALBUM. 

Yes,  I  would  add  one  humble  leaf, 
To  the  bright  chaplet  thou  art  twining, 

But  ah  !  its  verdure  will  be  brief, 

For  time  is  such  an  errant  thief, 

He  blights  the  sweetest  buds  with  grief, 
And  leaves  the  fairest  flower  declining. 

But  there 's  a  wreath,  that  ne'er  can  fade, 
Already  for  thy  temples  twined, 

Such  as  in  heaven  the  angels  braid, 

To  deck  the  brows  of  every  maid, 

Who,  like  Viola,  here  displayed 
The  beauties  of  a  cultured  mind. 

That  wreath  shall  deck  Viola's  brow, 

In  realms  unknown  to  time  or  grief, 

And  each  young  plant  she  cultures  now, 

Each  infant  mind  her  toils  endow, 

Will  breathe  to  heaven  a  fragrant  vow, 

Brightning  the  tints  of  every  leaf. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  267 

MASONIC    ODE. 

Intended  for  the  opening  of  the  grand  Gothic  Saloon,  in  th& 
new  Masonic  Hall. 

When  the  great  Architect  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Spoke  this  magnific  system  into  birth, 

And  bade  its  numerous  orbs  in  order  roll, 
To  perfect  wide  creation's  wondrous  plan,  u 
He  breathed  his  own  pure  spirit  into  man, 

And  man  became  a  living  soul ; 
Lord  of  the  fair  elysian  fields  he  trod, 
An  image  and  a  likeness  of  his  God ; 
Designed,  by  wisdom  infinite,  to  be 
A  living  temple  of  the  Deity  ; 
An  earthly  palace,  where  would  deign  to  dwell 
A  guest  divine,  of  name  ineffable ! 

But,  love  of  self,  a  wily  serpent,  stole 
Into  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  soul, 

And  tempted  man  to  taste  and  eat 
The  specious,  fair,  forbidden  fruit  of  pride, 
Which  heavenly  love  in  mercy  had  denied  ; 

By  which  offence, 
He  lost  the  Eden  of  his  innocence, 

And  fled,  an  exile,  from  the  blissful  seat. 
The  hallowed  mental  temple  thus  became 

A  mass  of  shapeless  ruins,  where 
Eternal  Truth  no  more  inscribed  His  name, 

A  den  of  thieves,  and  not  a  house  of  prayer, 

'Twas  to  rebuttdihis  miniature  of  heaven, 

This  temple  of  Jehovah  in  the  mind, 
That  the  eternal  three-fold  WORD  was  given, 

And  our  symbolic  mystic  ART  design'd. 


268  POEMS. 

For  this,  confiding  Faith,  and  smiling  Hope, 
With  sweet  celestial  Charity,  appear'd ; 

Wisdom,  and  Strength,  and  Beauty,  join'd  the  group, 
And  each  a  column  of  the  fabric  rear'd  ; 
Surmounted  by  the  royal-arch  above, 
Join'd  by  the  key-stone  of  celestial  love. 
The  work  completed,  on  this  heavenly  plan, 
His  tabernacle  is  again  with  man. 

As  an  auxiliar  in  this  glorious  cause, 

Our  fellow-craft  have  reared  this   gothc  pile, 
Sacred  to  pure  Benevolence,  whose  laws 
Of  mutual  kindness  light  a  blissful  smile 
In  sorrow's  dewy  eye. 
This  splendid  dome 
Shall  never  echo  an  unheeded  sigh, 
For  Charity,  descending  from  the  sky, 
Claims  the  proud  fabric  as  her  future  home, 
Her  earthly  temple,  where  her  blazing  shrine 
Glows  with  a  light  that  never  shall  decline, 
Till  thousands  yet  unborn,  admiring  see 
And  own  the  peerless  worth  of  MASONRY. 


EPITAPH. 

He  is  not  here,  but  risen — wherefore  shed 
Affliction's  tear,  or  seek  among  the  dead 
For  one  that  lives,  and  claims  immortal  youth, 
With  all  the  bliss  that  flows  from  love  and  truth? 
Grieve  not  for  dust—nor  let  one  sigh  alloy 
A  new-made  angel's  ecstasy  of  joy. 


*  * 

MISCELLANEOUS.  269 

TO    A    YOTWG    LADY, 

Could  any  charm  have  broke  the  spell, 
That  long  has  chained  my  humble  lyre, 

Thy  smile  had  waked  the  silent  shell, 

And  taught  its  sweetest  notes  to  swell 
With  pure  poetic  fire. 

But,  oh  !  its  cords  are  sleeping  still, 

And  e'en  thy  charms  must  plead  in  vain  ; 

This  heart  has  lost  its  wonted  thrill, 

Intruding  cares  its  fervours  chill, 
And  check  its  votive  strain. 


TO 

And  wilt  thou  think  of  him  who  traced 

This  tributary  lay, 
Or  will  his  image  be  effaced, 
As  foot-prints  in  the  dew  are  chased 

By  the  nexl  solar  ray?  -,,  »_>.,- 

Can  memory's  light  become  so  dim, 
That  thou  wilt  not  remember  him  ? 

I  will  not  libel  thus  a  heart, 

Where  every  grace  resides, 
Where  modest  nature,  void  of  art, 
Directed  still  by  virtue's  chart, 
In  peerless  state  presides  : 
She  shall  thy  silent  prompter  be, 
Sometimes,  dear  girl,  to  think  of  me. 
23* 


''  •<  i  i 

270  POEMS. 

TO   BELINDA. 

0  those  eyes  !  but  that  right  eye  in  particular  ! 

BILLY  LACKADAT. 

Those  auburn  traces  sweetly  play, 

Around  that  pearly  neck  so  fair, 
And  sweetly  does  that  brow  display 

The  clustering  ringlets  slumbering  there. 
Not  sea-born  Venus,  famed  of  old, 
With  streaming  locks,  like  threads  of  gold, 

Sparkling  with  ocean's  liquid  brightness, 
Could  boast  of  graces  so  divine, 
As  those  bewitching  locks  of  thine, 

Which  shade  thy  forehead's  sunny  whiteness. 

The  softest  shade  of  Tyrian  dye, 

Could  never  with  that  cheek  compare  ; 
Nor  will  the  bright  carnation  vie 

In  colour,  with  thy  Up,  my  fair. 
What  though  Cashmere's  delightful  vale, 
With  balmy  odour  freights  the  gale 

At  every  fragrant  feast  of  roses, 
Its  charms  are  here — why  farther  seek  ? 
Its  tints  are  blooming  on  thy  cheek, 

Its  fragrance  on  thy  lip  reposes. 

That  lip,  so  like  the  bow  of  love, 

In  graceful  curvature  and  hue, 
And  there  's  a  dimple  just  above, 

A  quiver  for  his  arrows,  too, 
That  sacred  shrine  of  nameless  charms, 
That  faultless  shape,  those  graceful  arms, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  271 

That  peerless  elegance  of  motion  ; 
With  richer  beauties  of  the  mind, 
All — all,  in  pne  dear  form  combined, 

May  well  inspire  this  heart's  devotion. 

But  oh,  that  eye,  that  beaming  eye, 

Mild  as  the  softest  star  of  even, 
Clear  as  the  azure  of  the  sky, 

Bright  as  the  vesper  lamp  of  heaven  I 
Whence  was  that  orb  of  beauty  stole, 
Whose  matchless  lustre,  in  my  soul 

Has  lit  a  flame  no  power  can  smother? 
"  Which  ?»  asked  the  fair—"  I'm  clear  of  theft— 
These  sixteen  years  I've  own'd  the  left, 

And  pa  paid  Scudderforthe  other.'1 


DUETT. 

Air — "  When  poor,  the  spirits  flag." 

SHE — When  grief  the  heart  benumbs, 

How  the  pulses  languish  ! 
HE. — Hopo,  like  a  cherub,  comes, 

Then  we  lose  the  anguish. 
SHE. — Here,  late,  were  clouds  of  gloom, 

All  the  scene  surrounding; 
HE. — Now  all  is  dressed  in  bloom, 

Hearts  are  gaily  bounding. 
BOTH — Still,  then,  in  pleasure's  bower, 

Let  us  rove  delighted  ; 
Joy  is  a  transient  flower, 

Taste  it  ere  'tis  blighted. 


272  POEMS. 

SHE. — Should  dark  despair  return 

On  the  coming  morrow, 
HE. — Love's  torch  will  brighter  burn 

'Mid  the  gloom  of  sorrow. 
SHE. — Love  may  himself  decamp, 

In  the  hour  of  sadness ; 
HE. — Then  feed  the  urchin's  lamp 

With  the  oil  of  gladness. 
BOTH. — Thus,  here,  in  pleasure's  bower, 

Let  us  rove  delighted  ; 
Joy  is  a  transient  flower, 

Taste  it,  ere  'tis  blighted. 


COME,    LET    US    TRIP    IT    LIGHTLY. 

Come,  let  us  trip  it  lightly,  love, 

Where  Flora's  sweets  are  blending ; 
The  moon  is  beaming  brightly,  love, 

With  starry  lamps  attending. 
The  grove  and  hill,  the  mead  and  rill, 

Have  charms  that  must  delight  thee, 
Then  let  us  haste  their  sweets  to  taste, 

\Vhile  zephyr's  sighs  invite  thee. 
An  hour  like  this  imparts  a  bliss 

To  souls  of  kindred  feeling, 
A  pure  delight,  serenely  bright, 

Along  the  pulses  stealing. 

The  evening  star  is  peeping,  love, 

From  yonder  paler  cluster, 
The  glassy  lake  i?  sleeping,  love, 

Enriched  \vilh  borrowed  lustre. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  S7S 

The  babbling  brook,  with  brighter  look, 

Meanders  through  the  dingle  ; 
And  chirping  notes  from  insect  throats, 

In  tuneless  measures  mingle. 
An  hour  like  this,  which  wakes  to  bliss, 

The  hearts  of  meaner  creatures. 
Must  surely  light  a  smile  as  bright 

On  love's  expressive  features. 


THE    SILENT    CONFESSION. 

To  a  lady,  who  asked  the  author  if  he  could  interpret  a  blush  that 
he  had  noted. 

O  yes,  'twas  a  fervour  of  feeling, 

That  gush'd  like  a  stream  from  the  heart, 
And  flew  thro'  the  pulses,  revealing 

What  language  could  never  impart. 
It  gave  to  that  frame  an  emotion, 

Which  sweetly  the  feeling  confessed  j 
A  zephyr  might  breathe  on  the  ocean, 

And  wake  such  a  swell  on  its  breast. 

'The  glow  of  thy  visage  express 'd  it, 

'Twas  borne  to  my  heart  in  a  sigh ; 
An  eloquent  silence  confess'd  it, 

It  spoke  in  the  glance  of  thine  eye. 
In  short,  'twas  the  soul  of  my  treasure,. 

Aroused  in  alarm  from  its  sleep, 
That  flew  to  those  windows  of  azure, 

And  lifted  their  curtains  to  peep. 


276  POEMS. 

TO   IAITTHE. 

lanthe,  could  I  touch  the  lyre, 

With  magic  art  like  thine, 
I'd  wake  the  spirit-breathing  wire 
To  thoughts  of  light  and  tones  of  fire, 
Like  those  which,  breathed  by  thee,  inspire 

This  raptured  heart  of  mine. 
And  I  would  still  the  lay  prolong, 

And  oft  the  strain  repeat, 
To  tell  how  much  I  love  thy  song, 
Its  numbers  are  so  sweet. 

I've  marked  thee — ere  a  dozen  springs 

Had  bloomed  upon  thy  cheek, 
When,  buoyant  on  her  glittering  wings,. 
Thy  infant  fancy  warbled  things 
Sach  delicate  imaginings, 

As  poesy  can  speak. 
'Twas  genius,  uncontrolled  by  art, 

And  reckless  of  defeat, 
I  heard  the  lay,  it  touched  my  heart, 

'Twas  wild  and  simply  sweet. 

I  marked  the  next,  with  cultured  mind, 

In  all  the  charms  of  youth, 
And  knew  thy  lovely  form  enshrined 
A  heart  which  every  grace  combined, 
By  native  taste  and  art  refined, 

The  pure  abode  of  truth. 
Then,  when  I  listened  to  thy  lay, 

Each  pulse  with  rapture  beat, 
It  seemed  to  bear  the  soul  away, 

'Twas  exquisitely  sweet. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  277 

Another  heard — the  one  alone 

Whose  worth  inspired  the  strain  ; 
Whose  manly  heart  is  honour's  throne, 
Who  breathed  a  sigh  for  every  tone, 
And  made  his  modest  wishes  known, 

Nor  did  he  plead  in  vain. 
And  when  a  wife — I  heard  thee  still 

The  matchless  strain  repeat ; 
How  must  his  heart  with  transport  thrill ! — 

'Twas  ravishingly  sweet. 

And  is  there  yet  a  tenderer  tie 

To  twine  lanthe's  heart  ? 
Can  warmer  feelings  light  her  eye, 
And  bid  her  pulses  quicker  fly  ? 
Can  any  other's  smile  or  sigh 

Such  ecstasies  impart  ? 
There  can — an  infant's  smiles  inspire 

A  strain  with  joy  replete ; 
A  mother's  love  attunes  the  lyre — 

'Tis  now  divinely  sweet ! 

_________  <t    ,;< 

COLUMBIA,  THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  WORLD. 

0  there  is  a  region,  a  realm  in  the  west, 

To  tyranny's  shackles  unknown, 
A  country  with  union  and  liberty  blest, 

That  fairest  of  lands  is  our  own. 
Where  commerce  has  opened  her  richest  of  marts, 

Where  freedom's  bright  flag  is  unfurled, 
The  garden  of  science,  the  seat  of  the  arts, 

Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world. 
24 


278  POEMS. 

The  rays  of  her  glory  have  lighted  the  earth, 

While  tyranny's  minions,  dismayed, 
Acknowledged  her  prowess,  admitted  her  worth, 

And  shrunk  at  the  flash  of  her  blade. 
For  conquest  or  plunder  she  never  contends, 

For  freedom,  her  flag  is  unfurled  ; 
And  foemen  in  battle,  in  peace  are  thy  friends, 

Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world. 

Her  clime  is  a  refuge  for  all  the  oppress'd, 

Whom  tyranny  urges  to  roam ; 
And  every  exile  we  greet  as  a  guest, 

Soon  feels  like  a  brother  at  home. 
Then  hail  to  our  country,  the  land  of  our  birth, 

Where  freedom's  bright  flag  is  unfurled , 
The  rays  of  whose  glory  have  lighted  the  earth, 

Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world. 


TO    A. 

When  that  soft  beaming  eye  reviews 
This  grateful  tribute  of  the  Muse, 
Those  coral  lips  must  not  refuse 

One  little  word  to  frame. 
And  be  the  little  word  they  choose, 

The  Poet's  name. 

O  breathe  but  that,  in  one  soft  sigh, 
Whene'er  these  couplets  meet  thine  eye, 
And  Zephyr,  as  he  flutters  by, 

Shall  bear  the  sigh  to  me, 
And  whisper  in  thine  ear,  that  I 

Remember  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  279 

PRINTERS'    ODE. 

For  the  Fourth  oJJuly,  1827. 

Sons  of  Faust,  to  whom  belong 
Hearts  and  arms  for  freedom  strong, 
Festive  rites,  and  patriot  song, 

Join  in  revelry. 
Raise  the  tributary  lay, 
"fis  Columbia's  natal  day, 
Let  each  heart  be  light  and  gay, 

Heirs  of  liberty  ! 

Banish  hence  each  petty  feud, 
Let  no  selfish  care  intrude. 
'Tis  the  hour  for  gratitude, 

Social  mirth  and  glee ; 
While  the  sparkling  rubies  swim, 
Round  each  mantling  goblet's  brim, 
Quaff  them  ere  their  light  be  dim, 

Drink  to  liberty. 

Think  what  cause  for  joy  is  ours, 
In  tliis  land  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
Splendid  towns,  and  shady  bowers, 

Blest  with  liberty; 

Freed  from  sceptre,  crown,  and  throne, 
Independence  is  our  own, 
Never,  but  to  Heaven  alone, 

Will  we  bend  the  knee. 

Peace  and  plenty,  through  the  land, 
Scatter  joys  on  every  hand, 
Bidding  grateful  hearts  expand, 

On  our  jubilee ; 


POEMS. 

Hark !  the  cannon's  martial  roar, 
Loud  proclaims  from  shore  to  shore, 
That  Columbia's  sons  adore 

Heaven-born  liberty ! 

We  who  boast  the  matchless  art 
Which  can  light  and  truth  impart, 
Let  us  all,  with  hand  and  heart, 

Keep  the  jubilee ; 
'Tis  our  ART,  and  that  alone, 
Makes  the  worth  of  freedom  known, 
While  admiring  millions  own, 

That  has  made  them  free. 

What  inspired  our  sires  to  brave 
Ocean's  rough  tempestuous  wave, 
Seeking  freedom,  or  a  grave, 

Death,  or  liberty  ? 
'Twas  the  PRESS,  a  beacon-light. 
Beaming  on  their  mental  sight, 
Led  them  through  that  gloomy  night, 

O'er  the  stormy  sea. 

This  sustained  them  in  the  field, 
This  compelled  the  foe  to  yield, 
This  is  freedom's  sword  and  shield, 

This  proclaims  us  free. 
Let  us,  then,  our  joy  express, 
For  the  blessings  we  possess, 
While  a  free  unshackled  PRESS 

Guards  our  liberty. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  281 

THE    FEMALE    INVINCIBLES. 

Written  for  Miss  Rock. 

MUSIC    BY    THE    LATE    CHARLES   GILFERT,    ESQ. 

When  Love's  rcveillee  summons  matron  and  maid, 

Julia- Ann  is  the  first  to  appear  on  parade; 

Ever  ready  at  roll- call,  with  weapon  in  hand, 

To  advance,  wheel,  and  halt,  at  the  word  of  command. 

With  a  passing  salute,  as  we  march  in  review, 

To  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-too  ! 

SPOKEN, — Attention,  company ! — Right,  dress ! — Support 
arms  ! — By  platoons,  right  wheel ! — Forward,  guide  left, 
march  i 

With  a  passing  salute  as  we  march  in  review, 
To  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-too  ! 

For  conquest  prepared,  yet  determined  to  yield, 
Fair  Therese  and  Sophia  are  the  next  in  the  field ; 
Where  they  gaily  manoeuvre  their  bright  polished  charms, 
Waiting  Hymen's  command  for  presenting  their  arms. 
With  a  passing  salute  as  we  march  in  review. 
To  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-loo  ! 

SPOKEN. — Halt! — Ready! — Aim! — As  you  were! — By 
the  right  flank,  file  left— march ! 

With  a  passing  salute  as  we  march  in  review, 
To  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-loo  I 

Well  armed  and  equipped  for  a  trial  of  skill, 
Fair  Eliza  and  Jane  next  appear  at  the  drill ; 
Though  reckless  of  danger,  they'll  face  any  man, 
Yet  their  fire  often  proves  but  a  flash  in  the  pan. 
24* 


282  POEMS. 

With  a  passing  salute  as  we  march  in  review, 
To  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-too  ! 

SPOKEN.— On  right,  file  into  line !— Rear  rank,  open 
order,  march ! — Present  arms !— Carry  arms  .'—Close  order ! 
Right  face,  march ! — Recover  arms ! 

With  a  passing  salute  as  we  march  in  review, 
With  the  rub-a-dub-dub  and  the  rat-tat-too ! 


A    SONNET    ON    SONNETS. 

When  memory  takes  a  retrospective  gaze 
Upon  the  bright  effusions  of  my  brain, 
She  cannot  find — I  note  the  fact  with  pain — 

Mid  all  that  heterogeneous  mass  of  lays, 
A  single  SONNET  !     This  might  blight  a  fame 

Greater — if  greater  can  be — than  the  one 

Which  now  rewards  the  muses'  favourite  son — 
I  mean  myself — and  gilds  his  deathless  name. 

This  must  not  be,  and  so  I'll  write  one  now. 
Let's  see  ;  it  must  comprise  just  fourteen  lines, 
Dull,  flat,  and  heavy ;  this  at  least  combines 

The  requisites  alluded  to,  I  trow  ; 
Two  more  complete  it;  now  the  bard  entwines 

The  neplus  ultra  garland  round  his  laurelled  brow! 


THE    END. 


INDEX 

TO  THB 

CONTENTS  OF  THIS  VOLUME. 


Arise,  my  love 10 

Awake,  my  dear  Jane '.',',  1 !  1 ! ....     31 

Awake  again  thy  witching  lyre  . .' .' .'  .* .' .' .'  ...... 56 

A  smile  from  thee - 37 

And  did  I  upbraid  you,  my  love .'.'... 57 

And  may  I  hope,  thou  kind  one? 68 

And  did  I  say  my  lyre  should  sleep 183 

And  wilt  thou  think  of  him 269 

Ah,  why,  sweet  minstrel .' 69 

Adelaide,  Felicity — "  Before  thy  infant  lips" 82 

Address— Opening  of  the  Park  Theatre 178 

Address — Opening  of  La  Fayette  Circus 224 

Address — Opening  of  the  Bowery 240 

Address — Firemen's  Benefit, 260 

Address — Hopkins  Robertson 247 

Apologue— -"My  little  girl," 265 

Believe  me,  if  there's  aught  on  earth 11 

Believe  not  the  slanders 43 

Bucket—"  How  dear  to  this  heart," 12 

Balm  of  the  heart 16 

Bashful  lover 22 

Beside  a  streamlet 33 

Bankruptcy  of  the  heart 73 

Before  thy  infant  lips  could  frame 82 

Beauty,  sweet  mysterious  power 99 

Bugle — "  Deep  murmurinp-  down  the  lonely  dell,"  ....  118 

Bright  is  the  Word 191 

Book  of  the  heart 264 

Come  to  my  cot 6 

Cottage  Lass , 15 

Christmas  Gambols . . , 76 


284  INDEX. 

Calumny—"  Ah,  what  avails," 94 

Confiding  woman 101 

Canal,  the  Grand, 137  217 

Consecration 215 

Cathleen  O'Moore 275 

Come, let  us  trip  it  lightly,  love '..'..'.'...'...  272 

Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world 277 

Dancing  gaily  on  the  green 18 

Deaf  and  dumb—"  The  ills  that  call," 98 

Deep  murmuring  down  the  lonely  dell 1 18 

Dark  was  the  hour 120 

Doctor  Stramonum 171 

Death  of  an  infant 203 

Dirge — Adams  and  Jefferson 209  21 1 

Evening — "  'Tis  pleasant  when  the  world  is  still,".. ..     23 

Embarked  on  the  ocean  of  life 67 

Edwin  Deslile — "  The  battle  was  ended," 90 

Epitaphs 185, 187,195, '204,  261  2G8 

Epilogue  to  Narrah-Mattah 2oO 

Epilogue,  to  Itokeby 254 

Epistle  to  Geo.  P.  Morris,  Esq 184,  297 

Flowers  of  Life 88 

Friendship — "  What  power  can  prop," 92 

Fair  vocalist 91* 

Female  ornaments — "All hues," 96 

Fashions—"  To  tyrant  fashion," 103 

Freedom's  star 110 

Freedom's  Constellation 112 

Free.lom's  Jubilee 115 

Fashions — "  How  fashions  change," 155 

Friseur,  the  expert 1 67 

Florian's  grave 215 

Fireman,  the — an  Address 260 

Female  Invincibles 28 1 

Grave  of  hapless  Mary 19 

Got  x  i  Morning 28 

Giving  and  receiving 55 

Gentle  peace,  on  ruffled  pinion 109 

Glory  gilds  the  western  skies 112 

God  is  in  his  holy  temple 1 94 

Gamut,  the 67 

How  dear  to  this  heart. 12 

jHere,  in  scenes  of  sweet  .-vclusion 13 


INDEX.  858 

Harlem  Mary 21 

Harvest  home — "  When  mellow  autumn," 30 

Hay-makers — "  It  is  sweet,  love,  to  stray" 34 

Harriet's  favourite  poems 64 

Hail!   the  season  of  joy  and  festivity 76 

Hibernia's  tears  for  ever  flow 93 

How  happy  is  the  minstrel's  lot 100 

Hail,  La  Fayette ! 122 

Hark!  the  martial  drum 122 

Hark!  the  clamorous  bugle 135 

How  shall  we  sinners  come  before  him  ....   202 

Happiness — an  extract  from  Quarter-day 213 

Hunters  of  Kentucky 221 

Halleck,  the  purloiner  of  Apollo's  lyre 257 

I've  a  peaceful  little  cot f} 

Is  therela  light  whose  effulgence 16 

I  love  to*  hear  the  flute's  sweet  notes 24 

I  love  only  thee 43 

I  would  a  garland  twine,  my  love 49 

I  sigh  not  for  glory 53 

I  had  a  lyre,  when  hope  was  young. 59 

I  heard  a  sweet  strain  in  the  grove 63 

I  own  I  chid  the  pensive  strain 68 

I  asked  the  muse  to  breathe  a  name 85 

Imprisoned  Debtor 87 

Independence.  ..126,  128,  131, 134,  136, 138,  140,  142,  279 

Incarnation «. ..........  186 

lanthe,  could  I  touch  the  lyre 276 

Invincibles,  Female 281 

Kiss — "  Does  Eliza  remember?" 47 

Kaleidescope — "  Just  like  hope" 86 

Let  those  whose  hearts 19 

Loves  she  like  me  ? 32 

Love  and  jealousy 41 

Love's  eyes  are  so  enchanting 44 

Love  and  valour 45 

Love's  Ledger—"  I  own  myselt" 46 

Land's  End — {v  The  gale  was  propitious" 78 

Let  politicians  rail  and  fight . . , , 83 

La  Fayette's  welcome 119,121,  122 

Landlord,  the  hard-hearted 168 

Milkmaid — c;  When  blushing  Aurora" g 

Morn  of  May — "  Arise,  my  love" 10 


286  INDEX. 

.. 

My  father's  farm 11 

Mary's  grave — "  Let  those  whose  hearts" 19 

Morning — "  Aurora  paints  the  orient  skies 29 

Miniature — "  That  tranquil  brow" 39 

Music,  the  language  of  love : 42 

Meeting — "  I  saw  them  meet" 60 

Minstrel — "  How  happy  is  the  minstrel's  lot". ........   100 

Masonic  Odes 120,  267 

Montgomery's  poems — to  a  young  lady 148 

Morning — an  extract  from  Beasts  at  Law 180 

Miriam's  song 200 

Monody,  on  the  death  of  a  friend 205 

Do          do        do  Jefferson  and  Adams... 209,  211 

Maids  of  heaven 263 

My  little  girl,  the  other  day 265 

Nay,  my  all  of  joy  that's  left 50 

Nosegay — "  Here  the  rose  and  lily" 51 

Nature  and  the  passions 58 

Nuptial  song — c '  O  blest  is  the  festival" 74 

Now  amity,  hope,  and  pleasure 81 

Nay,  ask  me  not  for  wit  or  rhyme 84 

Now  the  torch  of  rapture  burns 101 

New-York 1 33 

New- Jerusalem 1 88 

Nativity 192 

Newspapers 229 

O  green  was  the  poplar 20 

O  I  shall  ne'er  forget  the  spot 48 

0  stay,  sweet  vision  ! 61 

O  blest  is  the  festival  hallowed  by  duty 74 

O  trust  not  faithless  hope  too  far 95 

O  who,  reclined  in  dastard  ease 116 

Open  the  door 201 

Orphan  maid 253 

O  say,  can  this  be  love 274 

O  yes,  'twas  a  fervor  of  feeling 273 

Pride  of  the  valley 17 

Poplar — "  0  green  was  the  poplar" 20 

Peaceful  home — "  The  heart  sustained" 40 

Progress  of  improvement 124 

Philosophy  and  religion 182 

Quarter-day 176 

Repulse — "  When  first  I  sought" 54 


INDEX.  287 

Returning  home — "  No  longer  shall  fortune" 71 

Rights  of  woman 104 

Regeneration 189 

Redemption 190 

Reason  and  passion 242 

Sweet  seclusion 13 

Smile  of  affection 16 

Sweet  the  hour,  when  freed  from  labour 18 

Sounds  of  war  were  swelling  wild 45 

Sigh — "  Softly  stealing  from  her  breast" 52 

Smile  of  love 62 

See  him  surrounded 122 

Seasons,  the — To  Julia 150 

Sin  no  more 181 

Seek  ye  the  Lord 193 

Solar  system , .  231 

Suppliant,  or  the  orphan  maid 253 

She  hung  on  my  bosom 275 

Silent  confession 273 

Sonnet  on  Sonnets 282 

The  moonbeam  on  the  Hudson 5 

The  morn  awakes,  in  blushes  dressed 9 

'Twas  noon,  and  the  reapers  t 14 

The  cottage  lass,  the  courtly  dame 15 

The  pride  of  the  valley  is  lovely  young  Ellen 17 

They  sing  of  blue-eyed  Mary 21 

'Tis  pleasant  when  the  world  is  still > 23 

The  groves  their  vernal  sweets  have  lost 25 

Tomb  of  Henry 26 

The  blushing  precursor  of  Phoebus 28 

The  heart  sustained  by  hope  alone 40 

The  budding  hopes 40 

The  world  is  no  longer  the  desert 65 

Though  thousand  gems 70 

The  gale  was  propitious 78 

Tear  of  Gratitude--"  There  is  a  gem" 79 

Thy  ruby  lips  must  kiss  the  brim 97 

The  drum  had  ceased,  the  bugle  slept 102 

'Twas  war — and  the  plough  in  the  furrow 114 

The  banner  of  liberty,  proudly  unfurled 119 

The  God  of  battle  bo  thy  shield 123 

Tit  for  tat— the  coquet  punished , 160 

To  the  Rev.  J.  Hargrove 197 

Time's  auction 233 


588  INDEX. 

The  muse  and  myself  the  other  day 257 

To  Capt.  J.  B.  and  Lady 162 

Those  auburn  tresses 270 

To  my  wife 50 

Village  clock — The  morn  awakes 9 

Variety—"  The  noblest  talent" 27 

When  blushing  Aurora 8 

Water-melon — "  'Tvvas  noon" 14 

When  the  mild  star  of  evening 16 

When  bashful  Lubin  sought  my  hand 22 

Where  Hudson's  murmuring  billows 26 

Wreath  of  love 38 

When  infant  Cupid  ventured  first 41 

When  first  I  sought  my  Lydia's  love 54 

Widowed  ivy — "  I  marked  of  late'5 75 

When  eyes  are  bright  with  pleasure 80 

What  nymph,  asked  Apollo 91 

William's  promotion 102 

While  each  freeman's  son 104 

Waterman — "  Let  philosophers  boast" 106 

When  the  lily  of  Gallia 121 

Whiskers— a  tale  , 163 

Weeping  Mary — bathed  in  sorrow 184 

Widow,  the 196 

Worldofmind 198,199 

Washington's  birth 227 

What,  if  the  awful  mandate 223 

When  grief  the  heart  benumbs 271 

Why  does  my  heart 274 

Yes,  or  no — "  The  groves  their  vernal  sweets" 25 

Yes,  love  can  discourse 42 

Yes,  yes,  I  go— he  whispered  soft Ill 

Yale  college 245 

Yes,  I  would  add  one  humble  leaf.  •. 266 

Zodiac — To  Julia 145 


Melodies, 

duets,   trios 

'  *  •  .       me 

JUN  1  8  194 

"MENDING 

x 

/ 

M272177 


KV 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRA 


